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.

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.)

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

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?

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.

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.

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… 

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

This isn’t meant to be an admission of my closet antisocial qualities or my unwillingness to engage with those who choose to drop by unannounced. (Although admittedly, there are teeny shreds of both deep down somewhere.  Seriously, who are you people and would it hurt you to call…oops, sorry, email or text first?)  No, this is simply accepting a fact of our household…we really, really like to dress down when we are home for the day.  And I mean dress down.

In fact, knock on our door late Sunday morning, you’re likely to find us all still in our pajamas.  Heck, Sunday afternoon you might find the same thing.   My five year old son is already a huge fan of “pj’s and bedhead all day” on Sunday.  He will actually get out of his pajamas and choose something new…perhaps a fleece pair with penguins printed all over?  Perfect.  And that rooster tail he’s sporting?  Just completes the look in our minds.  

Now this doesn’t mean I go wandering the neighbourhood in my jammies.  I actually do a pretty good job of pulling myself together when I go out: I can usually manage jeans and a blazer, maybe boots or sandals depending on the season.  At the very least, I’ll grab a bright hoodie and cute sneakers.  And yes, I wear makeup when I leave the house.  I fake it with the best.  But I’ve lost count of the times someone has knocked on our door at 5pm and found even my husband in his pj’s.  

A friend once had her mom make all of us matching pajama pants…in the most outrageous bright orange flannel with, I’m not even kidding, glow in the dark googly eyes all over them.  We wore them until they were no longer wearable.  To this day if I leave my walk-in closet light on any length of time, it’s certain later I’ll be greeted with little eyes glowing from a random shelf.

It’s just our thing.  We’re happier in our jams.  And it’s funny, our favourite people to be around are those who have stayed over and hung out in their pajamas with us.  We like people to join in and be comfortable.

So go ahead.  I dare you.  Try knocking on our door unannounced.  I’ll try to remember to answer “Ah simply can’t open the door right now!  Ah’m not dressed!” and try to sound like a proper Southern lady caught in her unmentionables…but really, you know I’m wearing pink pajama pants that say “cute”, “bff”, “spaz” and “sweet” all over them like I’m fourteen.  

Maybe you might want to be careful, lest you get more than you bargained for. Besides, I’d rather you not disturb me; I’m busy shopping online for a new door – with a frosted window.

See ya ‘round the flannel aisle.

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/pajama_party_jen_taylor

Today we have a little something that I will blame the boys for buying, but admit that I ate my fair share of it as well.  Then I checked the label and kicked myself. 

(And no, at this point I don’t think I’m going to be revealing the actual names of the items in question…the whole point is to ridicule the junk that goes into some of this stuff, not call out one company in particular.  Also, I want you to start checking labels in your house too.  So if it freaks you out, let it.  Then go read some labels and eat a piece of fruit.  We’ll both feel better.)

“Ingredients:  Icing sugar, sugar, wheat flour, water, hydrogenated vegetable oil shortening (canola and cottonseed), vegetable oil (palm kernel, canola), liquid egg white, liquid whole egg, glucose (contains sulphites), modified milk ingredients, cocoa powder, modified cornstarch, salt, mono- and diglycerides, artificial flavours, soy flour, dried egg-white, soy lecithin, sorbitan tristearate, tartaric acid, potassium sorbate, sodium benzoate, sodium acid pyrophosphate, sodium bicarbonate, propylene glycol monoesters, sodium stearoyl lactylate, sodium aluminum phosphate, citric acid, bakers yeast.” 

Fascinating.  I am happy to see my old friend “propylene glycol monoesters” again – or actually, wait a minute, I never did figure out what that is.  Scratch that, I don’t think that one is friendly after all.  What about artificial flavours?  Mmm.  Sounds tantalizing.  And let’s see…I know what sodium bicarbonate is…but what is sodium acid pyrophosphate?  Oh, the mysteries abound. 

A tip?  Read the label before you buy an item.  And definitely before you eat it.