I love fall.

Fall means comfort food, warmth from fireplaces brought back into use and a season of goodwill just around the corner.  Fall meant time to enjoy all nature had to offer us in swaths of colour and bounty from gardens.  It meant crisp mornings and sunny afternoons gazing at still-green lawns covered in golden leaves.

Fresh pots of coffee brewed.  Steam would escape from a large pot on the stove, while soup bubbled inside.  My farmers’ market treasures sprawled across the counter, adding their colour and aromas to a kitchen badly in need of refreshing.  Oh, I don’t mean style refreshing.  No, these maple cabinets and dark hardwood floors, while not new, are warm and welcoming.  Red and orange accents make me happy, and the result is a kitchen that looks just as it should…cozy, warm and appetizing.  But something had been lacking, and I didn’t realize until lately how much it had affected me.

My kitchen needed to feel like it used to, as though it is the centre of everything we do and the source of all good things consumed in our house.  I am as happy as the next person for a meal or cup of coffee that someone else has prepared, but there is no replacement for a kitchen that is busy and turning out good food on a regular basis.  Happiness at home for me includes spending time in a kitchen where there is plenty of food to eat, tempting smells from all corners and a fridge and freezer ready to provide what we need.  It makes me crazy to have a half empty fridge, and to order something less than healthy for dinner.  It may feed our bellies, but leaves our souls empty of warmth. 

No, give me a meal we have cooked ourselves every time, no matter how simple.  Hot coffee, ready to share.  Fresh fruits and vegetables to make healthy meals and snacks for my kids. 

Why is my soul connected so closely to my kitchen?  I don’t bake much, and in truth came to cooking almost reluctantly.  But that was over a decade ago, and somehow over time I have developed affection for the kitchen.  It’s not that I’m preparing blue-ribbon worthy meals with six courses and a homemade dessert for regular dinner guests, but I do feed my family from this kitchen.  And any meal I make for my kids especially represents far more than the sum of its ingredients.

I love good food.  I love seeing and smelling fresh tomatoes.  I love fruit ripening on my Italian glass platter, all orange and red and green.  But I think what I love most of all is the feeling that I have had time to do it all.  I have had time to shop for fresh produce, carefully selected.  Time to stop and make a pot of coffee before returning to whatever it is that is keeping me running.  Time to plan, prepare and cook a proper dinner. 

These are very basic things.  But when life gets really busy, sometimes it can feel as though I’ve lost my groove.  I forget to thaw meat for dinner.  We run out of coffee beans, or I don’t have anything just right for my son’s lunch.  Perhaps we are running low on milk, and I’m chastising myself for not picking it up when I was out the day before.  If a kitchen is full of guilt, reminders and wasted food, I feel as though I’m losing my grip on everything.  It can make me feel as though we just aren’t functioning.  It’s not a good feeling.

Slowly, but surely, I am getting my kitchen mojo back.  I’m stopping for groceries often enough that we have plenty of good fresh food available.  I went to the farmers’ market several times this fall and have made sodium-free vegetable stock from scratch to freeze.  I made time to go out and harvest the herbs from the garden.  They cover my dining room table, drying on trays to carry us through winter.  And I am trying to ensure we are cooking dinners regularly. 

Fall brought me back my kitchen.  And in doing so, it brought back the feeling that I have things under control and I have enough time for what I want to do.

If this is what fall and winter are bringing me, then I’m ready to face them.  Are you?

The chair back digs under my arm as I squirm, ever so slightly.  I sit at one of the closing discussions at the Blissdom Canada social media conference, surrounded by others, and am asked to think of a word that defines who I am, what I do.  I am stymied.  I stall and think while others toss out answers.  Have I married who I am and what I do enough to find one word to encompass it all?  I am unsure.  But there are so many things I am sure of that I know unsure is not my word.

Later, I recount to a friend an experience that highlights my need for control in many areas of my life.  It amuses me to suddenly see myself so clearly, as though I had wiped away steam from a mirror with my sleeve.  Suddenly my reflection looks back at me, nearly winking at the trick.  I know my need to control certain parts of my life and my surroundings is more than an understudy in my little play, yet I know just as clearly that some the areas of my life I cannot control offer me the most satisfaction.  Control is not my word.

When I pause later to wonder what word I might choose as my own I consider all I do and my tendency to do more, think more, want more, miss sleep to accomplish more and wonder if it could be that simple.  Perhaps my word is more.  I want to do more, see more, be more.  However, a voice inside that occasionally begs me to be still also whispers “less” and I know that more is not my word.

My mind hums.  The evening wears on and we gather together to celebrate, to sing, dance, talk, laugh and embrace.  Each time I see someone I have wanted to meet for so long I reach for them.  We hug.  When a favourite song comes on or too long has passed since I have seen someone I like so much, I reach out as she does for a hand, an arm and we are again close and sharing the moment in laughter and music.

Morning comes.  I sit and try to think of all I want to write of the three days I have spent with intelligent, inspired women.  I reach for the words to express how I feel about them, about the experience.  I reach for ways to tell people how much it meant to me to meet them face to face.  I am sad that I cannot reach out and hug them all one more time.

I am inspired by so many ideas and suggestions from everyone at the conference.  I wonder how I will use them to reach others with my writing, reach more people.  I realize that this is most what I want to do when I sit down and put words to paper…to reach others.

Reach.  I realize that the word rolls easily around in my brain.  To me it implies a reaching out to others, reaching for connection, reaching out to hold those I feel close to.  I reach inside myself for nearly everything I need to make it through my days, and reach out to others when I need them.  I reach for dreams that may be distant on the horizon, but that I know lay beyond any distance or fog that may exist.  And I reach for happiness.  Every time I am given the choice, I reach for joy.

My one word is reach.

The time has come to yet again, place my trust in the powers that be, pack my suitcase, hop aboard a plane and immerse myself in people I barely know, if at all.

I mean, that’s how it comes across to most anyone I try to explain it to, anyway.  The rest of the story goes like this:  I’m on my way to the Blissdom Canada conference in Toronto and for the next three days I will be surrounded by some really amazing people, many of whom I have never met face to face.

To someone on the quiet or shy side, this probably comes across as mildly terrifying and sort of crazy.  But to someone who can most politely be called an extrovert, getting to be right in the middle of so many people I know and like, or have wanted to meet, is an amazing opportunity.

This online world is a funny, funny place.  It astonishes me how closely I hold people I have spent no more than hours or a few days with, if at all.  But hold them I do.  They are friends, confidantes, inspiration, amusement and a heck of a lot of fun.

They are bloggers, writers and authors.   They are a huge community of talent.  Some of my favourites are speaking on panels, leading sessions and I am so proud to know them.  I can’t wait to be there for them as they have their moment to shine and share some of what they have learned along their path.

If you are attending the conference and see me, come say hi!  You’ll make my day.

My boy. Six years old and the sun still shines on him a little brighter than anywhere else.

Kissing my son goodnight on his birthday is always bittersweet. I love him so much and am so proud of the tall, handsome creature in front of me. But he was my first, and the taller he grows the harder it is for my memory to reach back to his sweet baby days.

He reads so well. Last year, I could feel that it hadn’t clicked for him and wondered how to help, how to help him make the connections. I wondered how the magic would come to him, but suddenly it did and it’s breathtaking. If I wish anything for him, it is the ability to read and write and learn without struggle. I want the whole world to come easily to him. If only I could make that happen by wishing.

I watch him grow taller and stronger as the months go by. He’s toughened up too, yet still has feelings easily hurt by schoolyard or life injustices. This boy can take a spill on the sidewalk or across the basement floor and bite back any tears, but have trouble controlling emotions over harsh words or situations he doesn’t understand.

Ah, six. What an age. The boys are getting tougher, how to keep up and still maintain that little boy sweetness? Some boys manage it, some lose it altogether. I watch my son befriend both girls and boys, create teams at school that include them all and hope he doesn’t lose that gentle way. His best friend is a girl, yet he also has a pack of boys he runs with. I hope he keeps them both as he gets older.

I am so amazed to have a six year old, and even more amazed to have one with so much wonder to share with me. I love his laughter, his heart and the twinkle in his eye.

I love watching joy on his face. May this year bring nothing else to him.

Happy birthday, golden boy.

Evening arrives.  My husband and five year old son are walking hand in hand up the stairs.

“Tell me a story about Gormagon.” my boy asks.  There is the barest of pauses.

“Well, when we last talked about Gormagon, he had just won the battle against the Chinese emperor, right?”

“Right.”

And off to bed they go, already lost in the story; my husband, the storyteller, and my five year old.  That’s what you get when you marry a chemist with a minor in classics and Greek mythology.  His day to day job might keep him grounded in science and fact, rules and regulations – but his parenting is far from down-to-earth, especially at story time.

During most of our waking hours, I am the one making the rules, reining in the craziness and generally trying to make sure they aren’t all acting like a bunch of cute, yet wild monkeys.  Today my husband and I were joking that I do a lot for him and I teased him, saying, “Yep, I love being a mother of three!”

We have two children.

In truth, my husband is a great father.  He is loving and affectionate with both kids, and you’ve never seen a prouder dad.  Big picture?  He’s awesome with them.  However, when it comes to the details, I beg, plead and nag for consistency.  An old expression says the devil is in the details; my devil likes to break the rules and supply the sugar.

But there is one area where my type A personality is happy to let go and my husband hits it out of the park.  It’s bedtime.  More specifically, story time.  Since the birth of our daughter, my husband has been in charge of our son’s bedtime and it can be very entertaining to listen in.

Knights in shining armour, kings, dragons and blue whales are all potential guests once nightfall approaches.  Any given night we could have valiant swordplay, ravenous dinosaurs, Spiderman spinning webs or Elmer chasing Bugs out of the vegetable garden.

All day long we (mostly good-naturedly) battle for control and I will push for things to stay grounded when it comes to our kids.   But at bedtime, if this is where he takes them, I hope he keeps his head firmly in the clouds.

Life has a way

of stripping away the nonessentials

one birthday at a time

until we’re left

with our real selves,

unashamed before the world,

refined by experience,

shaped by the things

we’ve learned

and the passions we’ve pursued…

 And finally,

we know what we know,

and we love

what we love,

and we still have

this precious thing called time.

And it’s enough.

It’s more than enough.”

                                         ~author unknown

The above is my favourite quote to read on my own birthday.  It’s also my favourite thing to share with other people when their day arrives.  It reminds me that no matter how old I am, or who I am becoming, that there is still time to do what I want.  I don’t have an issue with age in the classic sense, in fact, I like who I am more now than I did in my younger years.  The number isn’t what bothers me, nor do a few lines that remind me of the biggest smiles and best laughs I’ve had.  What bothers me is the feeling that I haven’t done everything yet, that I want to do and be so much more…and go so many more places.  No matter how content I am with the status quo, you can bet I’m always three steps ahead in my brain, figuring out what lies ahead.

Today is my birthday.  I always say I don’t like my birthday, but the truth is I actually do.  I love all the well wishes, the people that take a moment to send a little message or note.  It’s like, for that moment, one more person in the world held you in their hand and thought something happy for you.  And in a world like the one we live in today, that’s got to be a good thing, right?  So.  I do really like all of that, I just have never been one for big celebrations.  Send me an email, send me some love, just don’t take me out and sing to me in a restaurant or bar, because oh my chocolate, so not my thing.

When I was young I used to write birthday lists.  You know, gift ideas for my family so they would know what to get me.  (Hey, after you get asked and asked, you figure they’re looking for help!)  And funny, any time I didn’t put up a list, my family would always comment and hint and say they were waiting to see the list.  I was always happy to oblige.

Then I moved out, started making my own money and the birthday lists stopped.  I am not really very good at receiving gifts, anyway.  When I was young and had lots of things I wanted and couldn’t pay for, it was great, but now?  I can buy what I want.  And I don’t need gifts to know who loves me.  Tell me you wish me well, send me warm fuzzies, spend time with me (whether on that day or another) – these are the things that make a birthday real to me.  A card in the mail from someone I really love that made me misty last week?  Better than a gift.  After that, any time they asked, I couldn’t come up with answers. 

What do I want?  What do I need? 

Nothing I can list on a piece of paper or that can be bought in any store.   Today I look at the life around me and see so many things I never guessed I would have.  I have this great, full life and awesome people to share it with.  It’s not that I don’t have irritations or things I wish I could change or that my life is perfect.  It just means that if I look around, there is so much more good than not.  I already have enough.

The only wish I have had lately was to spend more time writing, more time working.  To find a little more “grown up me” time now that my kids are getting more independent.  I wasn’t sure what this would look like, but knew something was coming.  I just had to be ready.   And the last two months have brought me an amazing community management job and writing opportunities with some really wonderful people over at EverythingMom…I couldn’t have predicted it or asked for it, but now it feels like home.  I have also started doing some freelance writing work on the side for WriteSourcing, and again, the chance to work with someone I like makes me feel so fortunate.

So again, this year, I can’t think of anything I want or need.  I can’t even imagine how to hold all the good that’s already come into my life lately.  I’m enjoying all my birthday wishes, messages and love today…and know that if you sent one, for a moment I held you in my hand and thought something happy for you too.

Tiny onesies, wee sleepers, piles of pink and blue.  A collection of infant carseats and other scattered baby items.  Extra diapers in assorted sizes.  I have kept them all.

Even as we prepared for our recent move, I refused to get rid of any of our baby items.  Our second was just over a year, and what a blissful year it had been.  I was shocked to find myself considering another baby.  For someone who once upon a time wasn’t sure she wanted any, thoughts of adding a third were very surprising indeed.  At any rate, I couldn’t make such an enormous decision in the middle of a move.  Slightly embarrassed, I stuck to my guns.  No decision would be made until we were settled in our new home.

And now?  For the most part, we are settled.  We are happy with our move back to our hometown, a routine is slowly taking shape and the two kids we have are happy, healthy and bringing us great joy.

Two years ago, I was about four and a half months pregnant with our second baby.  I was ecstatic to be so blessed.  My first pregnancy, the one that brought us our son, was a road we had walked so easily.   However, the road became distinctly less smooth as we walked it to reach our daughter, our lovely second baby.  We learned how precious the life we were trying to create really was.

I loved being pregnant.  With both my children, it felt like a miracle.  Pregnant with my first, I remember joking “It’s like having a hidden superpower!  I can make people!”

And when our second babe was four months old, deliciously cuddly and sleeping such long hours…well, I couldn’t get enough of her.  She had the perfect peach fuzzy head, and was so content; I thought…I could do this again.  Maybe a third?  What if?  Maybe this was our destiny, a houseful of children.

And yet, here we are.  We have a sweet and smart boy who will be six come fall, so full of imagination and laughter.  And we have a bright spark of a little girl, 19 months old, who charms everyone and makes us laugh like crazy.  They adore each other, and we them.  My mind and heart almost cannot hold how fortunate we are.  I look at them and know that there are no dreams I have that are unrealized, that these two beautiful children complete our family.

As much as I miss that little peach fuzzy head and the sweetness of my babes when they were small; I look forward to our future with these two.  I can’t wait to travel more easily with them and to have them take in all that the world has to offer.  I’d like to talk with them and hear what they think of this big, crazy planet.  And there are days when I’d trade our lovely long afternoon naptime for two kids who could go all day and take in outings longer than three hours.

I do not wish away these young years, yet I wonder at starting it all over again.  Something inside tells me we might have our perfect family already.  Two years ago, at 22 weeks pregnant with our second baby, I looked like this.  And I am left to wonder, will I again?  Or are the two we have more than enough?

(My only belly shot:  a cute, but fuzzy pic of me taken for friends out of town who were sad to be missing seeing me pregnant.)

Last year, after a frazzled start to fall, I posted the following on Twitter:  “I’m declaring November ‘Take Care of Me’ month so I don’t go into December totally depleted.  Who’s with me?”  I got reply after reply.  I was amazed.  I tried again later…and again, moms were retweeting it with an “I’m in!” and “ME!”

I realized that we were all doing it.  Every time a child’s needs change, or something new needs doing for someone else, we make it happen.  We make time.  We stay up late, we sacrifice sleep or leisure time and get it done.  Yet we endlessly cut corners on the things we do to stay healthy and happy.

I’m a mom of two, and they keep me hopping.  We just moved, we own our own business and I just started a new job; I need multiple to-do lists to get it all done in our busy household.  Lack of sleep, busy days, jam-packed schedules:  all of these things add up to a frazzled mummy who isn’t giving or getting her best.

So here’s what I decided to do.  I hate the feeling of deprivation that comes with immediately stopping all indulgences.  I always found it hard to stay positive.   This time I’m going at it from a different angle.  I am adding in good habits, and as I go along, they will crowd out the bad ones.  That way, my focus is on what I am adding, rather than what I am taking away.

My goal is to add each good habit one at a time.  At first it will be things that don’t hurt.  Taking vitamins.  Tea or water mixed with juice in the afternoons instead of more coffee with cream, sugar and usually chocolate.  Club soda and reduced calorie juice instead of pop.  Increasing the  vegetables in my lunch, and remembering how I used to love fruit.  Nibble chocolate chips instead of eating whole chocolate bars.

As my energy returns and these become second nature, I will be more prepared for the challenges ahead:  getting more sleep, getting friendly with my elliptical trainer again and cutting back on my sweets.

In short, I decided that declaring a “Take Care of Me” month was just another symptom of the care I wasn’t willing to give myself.  I’ve decided to aim higher.  I’m declaring this my “Take Care of Me” life.

Who’s with me?

This piece was originally published by The Yummy Mummy Club, a great website created by Erica Ehm.  Fun for yummy mummies (and delicious daddies)! 

http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/take_care_of_me_jen_taylor

Is it me, or does the sun seem to be shining a little brighter today?  We step outside of our hotel, and blink into the sunlight.  It is a special day, one my children will remember forever.

We are fortunate to be able to be in attendance as world leaders converge in this proud city in our fair country.  It is history in the making, and we are here to be part of it.

There is a celebratory air downtown as crowds gather to greet and welcome our international visitors.  Our flag flies high above the festivities and, as always, we feel proud to be Canadian.  One by one, the leaders arrive and are escorted through an excited crowd.  The police have been called in to assist for the day, as the crowd may become overexcited in taking photographs or attempting to shake hands. 

Anyone who has the chance comes out to try to catch a glimpse of our visitors, both domestic and international.  It is a day where policy will be written, important ideas will be discussed and grave challenges that face the world will be considered.  Those in attendance, or watching through media streams, know that it is not a perfect world and that politics are not always simple.  But they also know that change doesn’t happen unless someone starts a dialogue.

We have faith in the leaders we have elected to discuss the issues that concern us most.  We feel connected to the process, knowing that we took part in the voting and that we engaged in respectful debate during any election.  Our issues have been raised in the appropriate forums, through intelligent and engaging discussion and writing.  Today is not a day to wallow in disagreement.  It is a day to take a deep breath and realize that change may well be within our grasp.

I look around as we get closer to the event site and I see I am not the only parent who has chosen to bring their children today.  For this is an event we want our children to remember and take part in.  We delight in the opportunity to show our children the way the world can work together when it is needed.  We want our children to know that great things are always happening and that action can always be taken when challenges arise.

I want my children to see world leaders, learn their names and realize that they are real people, with histories and experiences that have led them to this day.  Why?  Because we are all raising the next generation, and one or two or a handful or perhaps hundreds will be the ones effecting change for their peers one day down the road.  What better way to raise the next generation of world leaders than to take our children into the heart of change and tell them, “These are the people to whom we have entrusted this task.  They are listening, learning, sharing and working together.”

We must tell our children that politics are about discussion, debate and inspiration.   That they will work hard, educate themselves through books, experience and the people around them.  And that someday if they want to be a part of this amazing event, they will speak and be heard.  And that they will be a part of this circle of inspiration, rather than outside of it.

I want to tell my children that to have a voice and opinion that others will respect, one must first respect the voices and opinions of others.  That connection with others comes from opening your mind, your heart and your hands. 

I want to tell my children that a summit like this is a meeting of the minds, a collaboration of power and the opportunity of a lifetime.  Inspiration at its best.

~~~

Sigh.  With a shake of my head, I realize that I have been daydreaming.  Dreaming of a kinder, gentler world where peaceful dialogue and intelligent debate stand in for riots, property damage, and rampant violence.  Dreaming of a world where people could bring their children, not gas masks, to be part of such an important day.   Dreaming of a world where we would take photographs of leaders from far and wide – not broken storefront windows and burning cars.  Where the constant media updates would bring us news of discussion from inside the summit, all serving to inspire those of us lucky enough to attend.

Instead, I realize that almost everything I know about the summit is about the protests, the police, property damage and the shocking photos making their way through social and mainstream media.  Faceless acts, angry crowds, embattled police and random violence.  I have been exposed to only the worst of what people have to offer when their faces are hidden and identities disguised. 

And who has ever, ever been inspired by that?

At the age of thirty I began walking a path that would lead me to myself. 

You’ll forgive me if this all sounds a bit paradoxical, a bit “chicken and the egg”.  What I mean is, at thirty I became a mother, and in doing so came face to face with the truth of my real self.  I found the good, the bad, the brilliant and the very flawed.  Some mothers lose themselves in the early years with their children; in contrast, I found myself.

And when I found myself, I also found my voice.  All my life I had ducked any public display of anything that could have been taken as creative talent.  In my experience, creativity came in the form of paint, of craft supplies and glue.  Never did I give any thought to what might be my contribution; in fact I was certain I had none to offer.    But with the arrival of my children, a wellspring bubbled up inside me.  I ignored it at first, all the while penning long, amusing emails to friends and family spinning tales of what my firstborn was getting up to, and into.  I could churn out a charming and clever holiday letter, two pages on the nose, in my first attempt.  There were clues, but I ignored them.

Five years later, I took a deep breath and watched a new part of me take centre stage.  Story teller.  Truth teller.  I never had the desire or courage to write until I became a mom…and when I did so, I learned to tell the truth.  For it is only truth that keeps you company in the long, occasionally desolate nights with a newborn.  Truth that follows you through your days and paces your every step until the only way you can carry the weight of it is to share it with others.

A peek into a dictionary shows creativity defined as “having the ability or power to create…characterized by originality and expressiveness”.  Indeed.

As a mother, I create order from chaos, peace from the battleground and small trees where once only broccoli grew.  I create a world for my children, weaving truth and story together as though in a tapestry of human emotion.  It hangs on the wall and shouts “Here we are!  We are love, hate, affection, anger, exhaustion and bliss.” 

I like to think that my children were the first things I created.  And having realized I could indeed create things of great beauty and wonder, all doors were open to me.  Today I not only tell stories, but have the courage to write them down for others to read.  Perhaps someday my truth will lift weight from someone else, or encourage them to share theirs.  We are all creating, all the time, and it can indeed be a beautiful and wonderful thing.

I wrote the following back in January while we were planning our recent move, but decided to save it for our anniversary.  Twelve years ago today we were married. 

It seems both a moment and a lifetime ago.

“What are you two, the poster children for marriage?”

This question was posed to us by an acquaintance, years ago, after we were first married.  Apparently we had shocked him with an exchange where we managed to ask a question, answer a question and both use terms of endearment while doing so.  Apparently, done with the right amount of respect, affection and loving looks it can really shock the crowd.  Who knew? 

And we were kind of the poster children back then.  We had put a lot on the line when we got together, a crazy whirlwind of a late night talk, one unexpected declaration and a resulting impulsive decision (no, not that impulsive decision, tsk tsk).  We had gone from friends with an unidentified connection to a “we” over the course of 24 hours.  We went from zero to “what kind of jam do you like?” at the grocery store in three days.  Heads rolled, most people questioned us and our “crazy” decision, but we knew we had something worth taking a risk for.  People knew we weren’t fooling around…we had made a commitment, and it mattered.  That was fifteen years ago, and no one questions it now.  But back then?  We had a rep to protect.

We worked hard at being a team, though things were never perfect and we argued as much or more than anyone else we knew.  But we had an unwritten code…never in public.  Oh, sure we’d disagree; we’d even argue in front of close friends…they knew we were the same as anyone else.  But we decided early on that we didn’t want to be the couple fighting at the restaurant while the rest of the table squirmed.  We tried to treat each other with respect, and tried to make sure the other person didn’t lose face in front of others.  We also agreed on all the big issues, and both knew in the end we only fought about the little things.

Nearly twelve years later, we are no longer children, but remember the comment.  At first it was a joke, something to giggle about.  Later it became a reminder of what we had been, a way of making sure we weren’t getting too far from our roots together.  We still bring it up now and again, sort of a gentle nudge to make sure we remember the days when our exchanges contained more terms of endearment and loving looks than grocery lists and itineraries.

I’d say we’re still on the poster.  The poster has gotten a little banged up over the years; I’m sure at least partly due to all the moves we have made together.  The corners are dented, and there are at least one or two wrinkles.  But we’re moving again and the poster is coming with us.  I’m shopping for a house with just the right spot to put it.

Last week I was invited by the lovely Erica Diamond to write a guest post for her blog Women on the Fence. 

She and I have recently connected on Twitter, and I have to say I love the name and concept of her site.  Women on the Fence, boy, I am one and I know many!  The tagline for her site is “For Women on the Fence in Life, in Love, at Work – It’s time to GET OFF THE FENCE and start living!”  I couldn’t have said it better myself, and am so pleased to contribute.

Here is the post I wrote, called “The Beckoning Path“.  Have a read, and I’d love to you to add your comments to those at the bottom.  So encouraging for us all to share our stories!

The Beckoning Path

I am not one of those people.  Twelve moves in fifteen years is all the proof I need offer.  And no, we’re not on the lam, I checked.

I am happy with the life I lead.  It is full of inspiration, blessings and comforts.  To want more is to seem ungrateful of the abundance already surrounding me.

But I would argue that there is a place for wanting more, for loving the path you are on yet seeing another nearby that looks more appealing.  What’s the catch?  It is easy to want more, but taking the plunge can be frightening.

To read more of  “The Beckoning Path”, click here… 

“We should all go out for drinks sometime!”

Amazing how simple an idea this would have been before children.  Friends who enjoyed each other’s company during the day deciding that a girls’ night out would be great fun indeed.  They would have made a plan for an upcoming weekend, gone out and had a great time.

But the idea gets complicated once kids are involved.  Oh, we all know that moms need to get out and play, and of course absolutely deserve the time.  But what happens when life keeps getting in the way?  I’ll tell you what happens.  In a year and a half, these friends made it out for drinks as a group ONCE.  And even then, one ended up arriving late and leaving early as she juggled the near-constant needs of a two month old baby.

Did I just hear you gasp?  It’s crazy but true.  The moms in this story were like most others, with full and busy lives and six kids between them juggling for priority.  Add in one husband working shifts, one mom travelling to the US regularly for work, and one very tiny babe and plans have a way of slipping through fingers.  Never mind trying to foist bedtimes onto husbands and hoping very young kids wouldn’t be upset as mom left in heels at 7 pm.

Then one mom had a brilliant idea.   We all lived in the same neighbourhood.   A Facebook message appeared:  “Hi!  Tomorrow night hubby has a business dinner.  My kids will be asleep by about 8:30.  I’ll be drinking wine…anyone want to join me?  I’ll text when the kids are asleep, just sneak in.”

And the whine, wine and cheese nights were born.  Come as you are, bring what you have, don’t fuss over the details but just show up.  We drank wine, ate simple but delicious food, vented and talked and at times laughed ourselves silly.  We giggled to hear each other using language that never appeared during play dates.  We managed our wine nights when kids were sick and when invariably one husband was working or another away.  We had them when there were teeny babies in the house who might need feeding, and once, when one of us was 8 days overdue with her second child.  (Inexplicably, that evening lasted the longest, until 2:30 a.m.   Yes, the pregnant one was me.  And yes, I had permission to go into labour at my friend’s house.)  And the clincher?  Walking home afterwards, not a single one of us getting behind the wheel of a car. 

So what’s the moral of the story?  Yes, it’s fabulous to get dressed up and go out on the town.  But when what you’re really craving is a break from it all or time with your girlfriends, and circumstances keep getting in the way – be creative.  Find a way to make it easier, and you’ll find yourself doing it much more often.  And really, isn’t that the point?

This piece was originally published by The Yummy Mummy Club, a great website created by Erica Ehm.  It’s a true resource for moms (and dads):  articles, blogs, contests and ways to connect with other yummy mummies (and delicious daddies)! 

http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/whine_wine_and_cheese_jen_taylor

What is money?  Have you ever really sat down and thought about it?

It’s how you get all the stuff you need, right?

So, really, is that all that money is?  The stuff you spend it on?
 
It seems that when you are young, money is primarily about getting.  You use it to get the things you need, the things you want and probably a few things you really shouldn’t buy. You want to get a house and nice things to fill it up, you want to get a new car, you want to “get ahead”, you want a big wedding or to “get away” on trips. 
 
Later on, as you get older, getting slowly turns into keeping.  You want to keep the house in good repair, you want to keep the household running and maybe you even want to keep up appearances.  You might be trying to keep up with the “Joneses”. If you did a little too much getting in your early years, maybe you need to keep up with payments, or worse, keep the wolf away from the door.
 
Still later, you look around and wonder how to get rid of some, or most, of your stuff. You want to get rid of your debt, perhaps even your mortgage, so you can sleep soundly at night. You hope to simplify your finances to get rid of the stress that can surround a complicated financial life.
 
When did money become all about stuff?  If you look at your life over the long term, doesn’t it seem like you could solve a lot of problems by buying less “stuff” to begin with?  What if you stopped thinking of your money as “stuff”? What if you used it to build the life you really want?
 
So stop. Young or old, financially savvy or not, take some time this year to think about how you are spending your money. Are you spending in a way that is in keeping with your values? If you make a list of all the things that really make you happy every day, did any of your stuff make the list? Or is your list primarily things like family, friends, staying healthy, spending time with a significant other, getting out into nature with your kids? Open your bank statement and really look at where your money went last year. How much of it went to the things you say are important to you? Did it go towards things you will keep and treasure when you are older? Did it go towards experiences that are irreplaceable in your memory banks?
 
It’s time to make sure you are spending your money in ways that will have lasting meaning. Create a budget, plan where you will spend your money before it comes in and be sure you can afford the life you are living. If you can’t, make the necessary changes now. Stop confusing money with the stuff it can buy and start thinking of it in terms of the life it can build.

Once you figure out the difference between money and stuff, life becomes a whole lot sweeter.

This piece was originally published by The Yummy Mummy Club, a great website created by Erica Ehm.  It’s a true resource for moms:  articles, blogs, contests and ways to connect with other yummy mummies! 

http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/what_is_money_jen_taylor

Happy end, happy beginning.  

I came across this quote in a book a couple of years ago, and it became my wish for the last nights of December, as we pour champagne and try to choose words that will shape our year to come. 

It has been ages since I have had time to sit down and clear my thoughts to write.  I have had time, moments here and there, keeping up with this and that online.  But a clear mind has been a far off goal.  So here I am, a month after my last post wondering how to weave all the threads back together, how to wind up a year, begin a new one and make some sense in the middle.

I guess I dive in.  Fall is always a busy time for us, two kid birthdays, our business year end, not to mention back to school and Halloween thrown in for good measure.  And we’re all crazy busy come holiday time, right?  But then December disappeared for us, after being well all through fall two terrible colds took hold and we all got sick.  One by one, both parents, both kids, and round about a second time it went.  Between nursing my little ones during their worst days, keeping my son home for the last week before school holidays (all you parents out there are cringing, right?) and trying to swim through the ocean of holiday to-do lists with my own poor health…well, it wasn’t pretty. 

However, the holidays arrived, the lists got completed, thrown out or lost and soon we were almost ready for Christmas.  The house suddenly got calmer, cards and presents were mailed and we could feel we had almost caught up.  Relief.

Time to breathe.  Time to heal.  Time to stumble into a fantastic opportunity back in our hometown for hubs: he works in an industry so specialized that you just can’t ignore chances when they come.  Uh oh.  Well, we are the nomadic Mochas, with ten moves under our belts, right?  It was bound to happen sooner or later. 

We talked about it off and on over a night or two.  Decided it was crazy.  Decided the timing was all wrong.  Decided it was the perfect time and we’d have to be crazy to let it pass by.  Decided to do it.  Hometown, here we come.  Grandparents, here come the little ones.  Family and long time friends, we are coming back.  We made the decisions, firmed up plans and told our families Christmas Day.  A great day all around.

Christmas blew by us in a whirlwind of joy, food, children, toys, and well wishes exchanged among friends and family.  We deliberately rested for two or three days to make sure we got the full enjoyment out of things and to make sure our five year old didn’t miss out on a proper Christmas.  But come the 27^th, the decorations came down and a huge clean/organize/tidy mission began.  It lasted two, almost three weeks.

We are now in the middle of our relocation, have already listed our home and will be moving as soon as we can line up possession dates and details.  We will so miss our friends here, but are looking forward to being back in a city we know so well, and seeing our kids around our families on a regular basis.  There are good days ahead.

I promise to stop spinning now that we have the hardest work done, and to get back here more often.  I’ve missed it more than I can say, and while I did not enjoy the absence, it told me a little bit about myself and where writing actually fits into my priorities.  When it kills me a little every day to skip it, I learn a little something about how important it is to me.  So I’ll be back to my normal self soon.  In the meantime, please don’t mind the chaotic swirling of a busy mind or the random absences as I try to pick up all of the pieces of our lives here and relocate them to a new home, new province and new life. 

Buona fine, buon principio.  Happy end, happy beginning.  It’s all I wanted for my new year’s wish, and all I wished for you all too.  Happy New Year, everyone.

I remember wondering what it would be like when my son learned to talk.  He was our first, and I couldn’t imagine this tiny baby suddenly being grown up enough to talk and carry on a conversation.  I would look at his cute little Gerber face at five months and think…never.  Of course, it didn’t take long before he spoke his first word, then more and now I can barely get a word in edgewise.  He’s five.  Some days all I can think is “if I could just get him to stop talking!”  (Apples, trees, yes, I know the expression…)

The second time around, I am impatient.  My baby girl is eleven months old, and I can’t stand the suspense.  I know she is learning all the time, and I want to know what is going on inside that sweet little peach fuzz head.  She’s so animated, so interested and I wish I could hear her thoughts.  I wish she could talk away at us like he does.

She will call me “Ma ma MA!” or happily greet my husband with “Da da!”  She also will help me if I am trying to talk to him when he is upstairs, as I call or yell up she will look up and let out a high pitched “DadadadadaDA!” and then wait expectantly, as though it will help him hear better.  She is starting to make a G sound that will eventually be our son’s name. 

The other day, though, I stopped being so impatient.  I went in to greet her when she woke up, and there she was, standing up and waiting for me to come into her room.  Blinking in the light, she kept on babbling, and then smiled widely and said “Ma!”  I picked her up, greeted her cheerfully and she leaned on me and made her little waving motion with her hand.  I said “How did you sleep, baby?  I’m so happy to see you!” and my baby lifted her head, smiled and clapped her hands.  Then I said, “Oh, that’s so cute, are you happy too?  I love you.”  And I kissed her.  She looked right at me, puckered up and made kissy noises, one after another, at me.

I suddenly realized…I need to stop waiting for her to talk and realize that she already is communicating so much.  I don’t need to wait for the words to come before I can enjoy a back and forth exchange, a give and take conversation.

We made our way through the day.  Bade farewell to her older brother at school in the afternoon, kisses all around.  The teachers at the door smiled at her and greeted her warmly.  She gave them her best wet grin, wiggled and made happy noises.  We left, saying goodbye and one of them said “Bye bye!” right to her.  She looked the woman in the eye and said “Buh!”  I could have sworn she winked.

At the end of our day, we popped out to the store, just the two of us.  Now too big for her carry along car seat, I popped her in the front seat of the shopping cart.  I wrapped a blanket around and underneath her to protect her from the cold and hopefully from most of the germs.  Away we went, shopping, baby smiling at me and most anyone who would watch.  Suddenly she leaned forward and with a mischievous grin, put her mouth close to a bare part of the handle of the shopping cart, about to suck on it.  I grabbed her up quickly, propped her back up and said “No!  Not in your mouth!  Yuck!” and shook my head.  And with an angelic smile, she shook her head emphatically back at me and said “Uck!”

We went home.  I tucked her into bed that night and decided I could wait after all.  Hearing her voice is and will be the sweetest thing since my son learned to speak.  And absolutely, I will be delighted with every new word and sentence.  But for now, I am content.  All day long, she was talking to me.  In her own little ways, some of them recognizable, and I’m sure many that I never even noticed.  So I’m going to slow down and not be so impatient for the words.  She’s already telling me so much. 

I’m listening, baby girl.

There are a million and one opinions online about the H1N1 vaccine, and I of course have mine.  I’ve had people ask if I will be getting the kids vaccinated, and the answer is a resounding “yes”.  By now, many of you have seen me posting links to (hopefully) helpful articles regarding the vaccine, so I think my stance is pretty clear.  Now we will see how supply lasts and who actually is able to be vaccinated in what looks to be a developing shortfall (update from Globe and Mail here).  But I will be in line with my kids first thing Monday morning, and am hoping for the best.

But of course, a two minute conversation or 140 characters on Twitter doesn’t give me a chance to explain why.  So here’s how I came to my decision.  Can I guarantee my kids won’t have a reaction to the shot?  No.  But when health authorities the world over tell me there could be a serious risk to my kids, and that they have come up with a vaccine to prevent it, I’m there.  I am casting my vote with the WHO, the Canadian Pediatric Society, plenty of family docs, my kids’ pediatrician and an emergency pediatrican I know and trust who is online as The Virtual Pediatrician.  (Links provided below, check them out.)

Do I believe everything everyone tells me?  Of course not.  But in this case, mainstream health authorities that I have come to know and trust are recommending getting the shot.  If I get the chance to get it, I will, as will my husband.  If I can prevent us from getting sick, I can make sure we are there to look after our little ones.  If I can get them vaccinated and not panic every time a cold, fever or touch of some other virus strikes our household this winter, all the better.  I don’t want to watch my baby and wonder if she’s having trouble breathing and guess if it’s H1N1.  I don’t want to put my son to bed and then lose sleep wondering if I should be checking him through the night.  I don’t want to wonder if we’ll be a family who will be a little under the weather for a few days or a family sitting in the emergency department at 3 a.m.  There are families who are sitting in hospitals as we speak, or who have already lost family members. 

I just checked the Public Health Agency of Canada online (link below) and it says 95 have died in Canada so far as a result of H1N1.  Some would say that that is a small number, and that it doesn’t warrant the reaction it’s getting.  All I have to say is this:  95 sounds like a large number to me.  I have 2 children.  4 in our family.  95 sounds very large indeed.  Am I panicking?  No.  I’m vaccinating.  There’s a difference.

So this is my opinion, and my decision.  You may share it or not.  I typically wouldn’t weigh in on what other families should do…breastfeed, not breastfeed, co-sleep, crib sleep, baby-wearing or not…anything that affects your family is your choice.  Make your decision and enjoy the family dynamic that you create and that is yours to decide.  But some decisions affect others.  If you think that no one should tell you how to keep your kids safe, then let me ask you this.  Do you follow the seatbelt laws?  Put your kids in carseats?  Keep your speed within safe limits when on the road?  Send your kids to school?  These are examples of ways society tells us how to protect and do well by our kids…and when valuable, official, tested information is presented to us, I firmly believe it is our job to listen.  Not because it’s a conspiracy that I can’t see through or because some big brother wants to control us, but because the risks of the virus far surpass those of the vaccine.  Get shot, get your families shot. 

When it comes to vaccination, please remember it is not just about you.  We have to realize that what we do affects others.  Part of why I believe so strongly in vaccination is a little thing we call community.   In each of our neighbourhoods, our cities, our country there are communities of people, that, whether we like it or not, depend on each other from time to time.  We share schools, shopping, public services and hospitals.  It goes like this:  maybe if I vaccinate my kid, and you vaccinate yours and the kid down the street gets the shot as well, maybe we keep one of those kids from passing it to a baby under 6 months who can’t get vaccinated.   Maybe if we all do it and get as many people as we can to do it, we can stop the spread before someone coughs on that person on the bus who is already sick and dealing with a chronic or terminal illness and can’t fight off a virus.  Maybe I get the shot, and when I’m exposed to the virus, I don’t pass it between my son’s schools.  Maybe my whole family and yours and someone else’s don’t end up in the hospital with dozens or hundreds of others, taking up beds that could be used for other reasons.  Maybe we stop the spread before our schools, or necessary services that we all need or enjoy, have to shut down temporarily.  I’ve already received notices from my son’s schools noting that they have plans prepared, and how they will handle it if they need to close.  It’s so unsettling.  I can’t control a virus, and I can’t control the rest of the world.  But I can vaccinate, and I will.

Get information from a doc or health authority you trust, and consider the source of the other information you are reading or hearing.  Here are a few links that helped me decide.  Happy reading, happy Halloween and I hope happy vaccinating!

http://bit.ly/3le1Mx  Canadian Pediatric Society – H1N1: Information for parents about the virus and the vaccine

http://bit.ly/2t278E  Article in the Ottawa Citizen re: WHO - World Health Body says H1N1 vaccines safe, effective

http://bit.ly/CculA  The Virtual Pediatrician – Taming the Hog:  Immunization or not for Swine flu

http://bit.ly/3NAdiT  The Virtual Pediatrician- Pandemic Panic:  How to sleep soundly this week

http://bit.ly/2Rofdy  The Public Health Agency of Canada – FAQ: H1N1 Flu Virus

http://bit.ly/zFVvo  The Public Health Agency of Canada – Surveillance:  H1N1 Flu Virus

It’s nothing new to find both accurate accountings and flat out fiction online, and usually I’m pretty good at measuring things up at first glance.  However, truth and fiction seemed to swirl together more quickly than usual on the internet the last two weeks.  Two stories in particular caught my eye…two instances a few days apart where I felt a tug at my heartstrings.  And twice, just as swiftly as the stories pulled me in, they were proved to be mostly or completely unfounded.

I felt like I’d been had.  Like I had forgotten my better judgement for a time and had been played the fool.  It’s not a good feeling and it took me awhile to admit it.  I’m usually a skeptic, and it’s rare for me to jump on a random bandwagon in any of my social media channels.  I’ve thought about this for a week or so now, watched the chips fall and seen the opinions overflow.  I’ve seen what happens when people feel misled and misinformed, how they react in anger and bitterness.  I’ve seen that whether you mislead people deliberately or unintentionally, the reactions can be startlingly similar.

And I have finally come to a place of peace.  I finally realized what bothered me most about it all.  Not that I’d been let down by these people I didn’t even know, or that I’d had some important belief shaken.  No, that wasn’t my biggest concern.  What made me most unsettled was the next obvious thought:  is there ANY truth on the internet?  I have met some amazing people online the last six months, have enjoyed conversations, ideas, suggestions, laughter and running jokes.  Yes, some things are kept private, but many thoughts are shared and there are many truths exchanged on a day to day or weekly basis.  Some of these people I meet online have become great friends, others are an entertaining and enjoyable circle of support, common ground or fresh thinking.  Many are meeting in real life and I’m looking forward to the day I get to meet them face to face.  Can I trust that these conversations are real?

Where is the truth online?

It’s right here.

I’m writing it – and maybe you are too.  I realized that the simplest way to reconcile it is to realize that all we can ever do is offer out into the universe that which we hope to get back.  Yet again, another life lesson that teaches us to act as we would have others act.  To first do, then look for others to do for us.  Every day that I am honest with someone online, is a day that they might trust me enough to be honest in return.  Every time I show my authentic self to someone I have gotten to know, I have a chance to see their true mind and heart as well.  And I’ve decided:  it’s a chance I’m willing to take.  I will always keep some things private, and that’s only prudent.  Others do the same.  But every time I offer something genuine, I almost always get it back.  Connections are made, and more truths told.  And so we build.  I’m not the only one out there who’s looking for the real thing.

Where is the truth online?

We’re building it, one honest conversation at a time.

Lately, I have been dreaming of Paris.

It’s not your typical “I need to escape my reality” type dreaming.  I dream of a happier life and a wish come true.  A softer reality finally come to fruition…for someone else.  And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Now don’t get me wrong.  If my life looked differently than it does, or if I had chosen a different path, I’d love to be in France myself.  Italy.  England.   But it’s not my place right now, and I love my life enough not to mind.  But someone I know and dearly love recently made the enormous decision to uproot and move to Paris to fulfill a lifelong dream.  And it’s been an unforgettable experience to be on the sidelines, cheering her on.  Do I miss her?  Wholeheartedly.  But I wouldn’t miss this for the world.

With every photo she sends along, every little update, every email…I feel a weight lift.  For we all feel weight when our closest friends are suffering, don’t we?  Well, this friend had walked a difficult enough path that to see her glowing in photos in Paris – well, it’s heavenly.

My husband and I make bets on how long she will stay.  Will it be a few months as originally planned?  Or will it evolve into a new life?  No matter what happens going forward, it won’t change the fact that she actually did it.  She will always have the glow of Paris, and a lighter step than had been hers for many months before she left.

I sent her a note to check out a museum where Monet’s water lilies can be found.  My son studied Monet in his preschool last year, and has even practiced some watercolours and reproductions of Monet’s work.  (You haven’t met a serious four year old until you meet one who tells you “Claude Monet died in 1846.  And I miss him.”)  And in a lovely coincidence, she had just been to the museum in question, and sent us a few photos of Monet’s water lilies.  My son was amazed.

I love what this trip is doing and will do for her.  I love what it does for my life by association.  Although I may not be there to see it with her, our shared road will always include this amazing experience.  And when she shares it with my son, she helps me teach him that the world is a small place after all, and everything he is curious about is right there for him to see.  He will grow up knowing that he can go anywhere he wants.

And that’s a priceless lesson for us all to learn.

This piece was later published by The Yummy Mummy Club, a great website created by Erica Ehm.  It’s a true resource for moms:  articles, blogs, contests and ways to connect with other yummy mummies! 

http://www.yummymummyclub.ca/dreaming_of_paris_jen_taylor