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

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.

Oh, sure, I took him shopping.  As a baby, he couldn’t keep track of what he’d seen in a store and what appeared at home.  When he was a toddler, I explained that the toys on the shelves didn’t belong to us, so he could look for a minute and then we would put them back.  It was the truth, and it worked.  As far as he knew, none of the toys ever made it into our cart, and he never saw me actually buy anything.  He was never with me when I returned and purchased the items for him.  And he would jump up and down excitedly when something appeared in his playroom or from behind my back.  It was BRILLIANT.

Now don’t get me wrong.  I love my son, and want him to have all kinds of cool stuff.  And he has loads of it, much of it purchased by me.  But I never wanted to end up standing in the toy department hissing “Just stop crying, you’re not getting anything today!”  Was I more afraid of what he might become, or I?  Perhaps it was a bit of both.

Then one fateful day last year father and son burst through the door, faces flushed with excitement, eyes sparkling.  Realization dawned.  They had been to The-Place-Where-Childhood-Greed-Is-Born!  That’s right, the toy store.  Wall to wall, floor to ceiling, underfoot…TOYS.  My son was beside himself.  “We went to The-Place-Where-Childhood-Greed-Is-Born!  And I got this leaf blower!  And this truck!  Daddy LET me!”

If our household had a control panel, there would have been a big flashing red button signalling systemic failures.  Communication, planning, trust – all compromised.  Okay, that’s not what I want to write.  What I really want to write is that was the day my husband BROKE our kid.

I’m just kidding.  He isn’t broken, and he’s still his sweet self.  It’s just that now he knows the truth.

But it’s okay.  It was bound to come to an end.  And besides, the other day I had the most delightful time shopping with my eleven month old.  We talked, and laughed, and she admired all the things I showed her and put in the cart.  I know she will be excited when they make their magical appearance later on.  I’m sure I have at least another year or two of this, as long as my son doesn’t spill the beans!

And I still keep a stash for him anyway.

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/toy_store_shopping_jen_taylor

I’m so happy to see her change and grow, but there is a tiny part of me that wants to hold her and say “not yet!”  I was so happy to have another baby in the house…it was busier and more tiring because I was dividing my energy between two kids, but in some ways sweeter because I knew so much more.  I was so much calmer the second time around, less shaken when things didn’t go perfectly.  I felt like I was getting a chance to relive all those sweet baby moments and really enjoy them.

Here we are, back when she was too teeny to know how to smile at a camera when there was no one to smile at!

Maybe you read about my sweet girl in an earlier post.  You can find it here.  She has continued to be such a happy baby, even the appearance of her first two teeth hardly slowed her down.  (Had our first wakeful nights in months, but through the days she still smiled.)

Today was a day spent loving our girl, tickling her, making her laugh, listening to our son sing “Happy Birthday” to her.  We all helped her open her presents, then giggled when she ripped the tissue paper excitedly only to crawl full speed out of the room after each gift.  Apparently stolen freedom is as tempting as any gift at this age.  We opened gifts, had dinner and then brought out the cupcake cake.  And yes, the baby had her first taste of chocolate cake and icing…I held out a cupcake and peeked through the camera to catch her reaction.  Of course I misjudged the distance by an inch or so and she got a good handful of icing!  Boy, instinct takes over at that point, she was happily covered in icing and chocolate crumbs in mere moments.

A wonderful day.  I was so happy to see her this morning, as she laughed and threw blankets out of her crib in excitement just to greet me.  And I was so in love with her as I tucked her in, already asleep from all the day’s celebrations.  Sweet dreams, baby girl.  Tomorrow’s a whole new world.

What is it about mornings that make me want to jab sharp sticks in my eyes?  I love my son. He loves me.  I have no doubt about either one of these facts, but trying to get him going in the morning is enough to make me lose my mind.  I have tried to set up a schedule that works; I get up early so that I am ready ahead of time, he wakes early enough to get everything done.  I also know that he enjoys his school, and is always happy when I collect him from the steps of the school bus at lunch.

And such was the case when I went out to meet him that day.  He got off the bus, hat on crooked with one eye half covered and the other squinting in the sun.  He had a big smile, a story to tell and a full backpack.  I remembered our mildly traumatic morning and decided to shake it loose.  I took a deep breath, gave him a big hug and whispered in his ear “Hi honey, I love you.”  He beamed back at me and I continued.  “I’m so happy to see you, sweetie.”  We waved to the driver, and made our way up the driveway.

He stopped and looked up at me, and smiled.  It was as though the morning had never happened.  He took my hand to pull me down closer and whispered back, “I like that.  When you call me honey, and sweetie, it makes me happy.  It makes me feel all good in my feelings.  It’s sweet and good like…like candy.”  And he skipped toward the door.

What were we fighting about?  Nothing.  I couldn’t remember.  Sometimes this is how we get through the days.

Well, anyway, then I got ribbed about being a “cup with legs” so I sucked it up and posted a real picture as my avatar.  But some days I miss my little cup photo…it’s such a friendly way to start my day in real life.

“Mommy!  We were outside!  And I was standing there!  And I saw you!  Did you see me?  Guess what we did today?  Do you know what I have in my backpack?  I love my new school…I want to stay until DINNERTIME every day!”

And so ended our first full week at school. 

People asked me if I would be sad to have my son starting kindergarten.  If I would cry the first day, or feel weepy the whole time he is gone.  I answered honestly – that in the moment I may feel a little choked up, or that of course I was amazed, and a little sad that he was no longer a baby.  But truth be told, it couldn’t have come soon enough. 

Let me explain.  I adore my son…like rainbows and fireflies adore him.  He’s smart, funny, sweet, and full of beans.  He really is a well-behaved kid, but we have our moments.  And when the summer got too long, the routines slipped, everyone got sick of the heat…well, it got a little testy in the Mocha household.  We all felt it.  Too many times we asked him to play quietly or watch a movie while the baby napped or while I worked.  Too often it became just about getting through the days and the to-do lists while trying desperately to keep him entertained.  I felt like we weren’t enjoying each other as much as we could have been.

Two months have passed.  He is happily settled into his routines, attending public French Immersion half days as well as 2-3 half days in a private preschool setting.  He’s busy, but thriving and it’s proven to be a good balance.  He has the challenges of a new language and new school, but also the comfort and familiarity of his former school setting.  He has access to more specialized learning at one, but more gym time and outside play at the other.  He takes the school bus to one, and I drive him to the other.  And for us, it works.

And what I have now is a happy, engaged boy who has all kinds of outlets for his energy, and is actually tired out by the end of the day.  He has made new friends at each school and on the bus.  He gets the benefit of two teaching styles, and two different class sizes.  He is learning a great deal at both schools, but in different ways and I think it will give him a great foundation as he continues on with French Immersion.  He enjoys sharing his adventures with us and showing off what he has learned each day.  And we all are happier. 

Back to school?  Back to sanity!

(Now if I could just find a way to stay on top of the calendars, memos, fundraising, photos and artwork for two schools I’d be totally set.)

A cute holiday decoration that hubs decided to put in our powder room.  I love that he and the boy were taking over the decorating, but can I just say that it cracks me up to read “Do you see what I see?” as I go to…ahem…use the facilities?

Uh oh.  I asked him to repeat himself to see if I’d heard him correctly.  I didn’t know for sure if he knew exactly what was going on with the poppies.  I knew we’d talked briefly about Remembrance Day and that there was some discussion at school, but didn’t realize he would assume he should have a poppy too.  (Not trying to be obtuse, but little kids and pins?  With a baby in the house?  Not my first instinct.)

Apparently someone had come in to his kindergarten class selling poppies at school, but you needed money to buy one, and he didn’t have any.  He was totally dejected about it, feeling left out and worried that it was too late to get one.  And if he didn’t have a poppy by Remembrance Day, he might not be able to remember the people who were in the war.  His eyes were glistening and his voice was uneven.  Oh dear.  I was frantically scanning my memory, wondering if I had missed a note, a memo about bringing money to school for poppies.  I couldn’t believe they actually thought kindergarten students would be walking around with money in their pockets. 

I know Remembrance Day will be a very big deal to him this year.  It is a huge collection of ideas he has rarely, if ever, had to ponder:  war, fighting, soldiers, death, memories, graves, poppies.  He is a sensitive boy, smart and thoughtful, with deep feelings.  We have talked of death before, his own grandfather passed away two years ago and it took him a long time to understand.  He will often tell us he misses his Grandpa, even though he was just three when it happened.   He knows his great grandfather fought in the war.  And he knows that people died.  It’s bound to be an overwhelming and discussion filled day.  It’s the first year he has been old enough to be aware of everything that is going on, and oh boy, is he aware. 

I promise to make sure he has a poppy by Wednesday.  I assure him that he absolutely can remember whatever he likes without it, that the poppy is a way to show respect and honour, but that it doesn’t affect what actually goes on in his heart and mind.  I tell him that I will put money in his backpack with a note and if he has the chance again he can buy one.  I promise that if they don’t come back to his class I will take him out and find him one.

After a few minutes of desolate conversation and sniffles, the issue is resolved enough for him to sleep. He’ll trust me, and we will fix it.  He so desperately wants everything to be right for Remembrance Day. 

The next day dawns and we get him ready.  He has money tucked in his backpack just in case, but I don’t even mention the poppy.  I hope he will get one at school, that we won’t have to go out looking for one.  I hope that we won’t have any more tears or sad feelings before he gets one.  He gets on the bus and heads to school.

The morning ticks by.  I consider taking the baby out to go find him one, then stop and decide to wait.  I write an email to my husband to bring one home from the airport when he flies home…then delete it.  Wait.  Finally it is lunchtime.

The school bus pulls up.  I cross my fingers and hope.  The doors open, and my son bursts to the top of the steps.  He bounces down towards me and then as he hits the grass he turns, and beams at me.  He looked taller, like he’d grown an extra inch since I’d seen him that morning.  I finally realized why.  He was standing tall, chest puffed out.

“LOOK!  Mommy!  I have a poppy!”  I feel the weight lift off me and tell him how happy I am that he has one.  He shows it to me – the colours, the pin and explains how it is attached to his shirt.  Then I get a glimpse of what was going on the night before when he was suddenly so upset. 

He takes a deep breath, looks at me in a heartfelt way and explains as we walk back to the house.

“Mommy, I needed this poppy.  You have to have a poppy for Remembrance Day because it’s for remembering.  It helps me remember.  I can remember them so much better now that I have a poppy.  You know, the people that were in the war.  And some of them died in the war so we could be safe.  When I didn’t have my poppy, I couldn’t remember as much.  And I was so sad that I couldn’t remember them.” 

“But I have to be careful when I’m remembering, because I feel really sad.  And do you want to know what I look like when I’m really sad?  Like this.” And he hangs his head and shakes it sorrowfully at the ground, mouth turned down in a sad clown face.  “And then I kind of have to scrunch up my eyes like this when I’m really sad too.  But I’m still glad to have my poppy because it’s important even if it is sad.” 

He is standing beside me as we talk, and while I can see why I thought he looked taller, I still see such a small boy in front of me.  I tell him that I am proud of him, that feeling sad about it just means that he is caring and loving, and how those are two of the things I love about him.  I tell him that having thoughts of sad and serious things is important sometimes if it helps you understand them better.

“Mommy, I want to talk about wars, can you and me and Daddy talk about wars tomorrow?”

I take a deep breath of my own.  Yes.  Yes, we can.  A sad and serious boy deserves sad and serious answers.  If he’s ready to ask the questions, I’ll try to be ready to answer them.

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.