Your get away with anything day: for Moms

Mothers Day Fun

Moms, it's your day:  you officially get to look however you want (facials beware) say, share or post whatever you feel like without recourse from kids who get all bent out of shape because they absolutely forbid you to post or say anything that could draw attention to them or embarrass them.

A free pass
You have a forgiveness card that expires by midnight today.  For starters, I am going to begin with a rant.  Logging on I see Google's image for the day and I stare in horror :: how can a Mother's Day image have dad's tassled shoes? Horror.

Google gasp
How could they?  I mean seriously.  Any respectful, fashionista mother is a clothes horse and shoe-a-holic.  What a big booboo that is beyond kissing better. Yes, we've come a long way from being Betty Crockers in the kitchen.  We're a force to be reckoned with if you dare threaten her family and be beneath respectful to her and her kin.  

Google could have at the very least posted a pair of flip flops.  If they had gone out of their way, they would have found a pair of tasteful sandals that would make any lovely lady of motherhood drool over.  

Official "guilt free shopping day"
Ohhhh, one in every color day!  I hope mothers uniting at least finish reading this commentary before rushing out to do embrace their guilt-free shopping day.

Mom's Brag Book
Ok, Moms, grab that brag book and start posting those photos of your kids, brag about their accomplishments and let er rip!  Today is your day to get away with anything day.  What the world calls "Mothers Day" is your day to be who you want to be, do what you wanna do and say what you wanna say!

Have your say ::
I'm darn proud of my kids, just like each and every one of us.  Some days they challenge me while others they give me bursting pride that I could be responsible for creating such wonderful human beings.  Amazing how some of that nagging and guidance pays off.

My son inspires me every day
I was robbed of a normal celebration when he was born.  The nurses and doctors scattered and fussed over the minute he was born.  Imagine having your newborn with needle marks in his head because they wanted to figure out what was going on.  He was born with a rare genetic diagnosis that even specialists couldn't quite predict what life he would have unfold.
A hole in his heart, physically unique footprint, along with a number of other concerns.

Imagine bursting onto the motherhood front and you had to ramp up your protectiveness ten fold, when he was starting sniffles meant you were heading for the emergency department, having heart surgery at 13 months old.

Paul Brandt
Kyle taught me that the cup is always half full.  You should never dwell on what ifs and feel joy at all the what as.   During one of those emergency trips to the Children's Hospital in Calgary, he was treated to the rare care of a male nurse of all things.

What was even more miraculous was this nurse had just won a singing talent contest in Nashville, Tennessee.  Paul has gone on to be the greatest Canadian country artist of all time and  to this day (think Juno, think megastar).   Paul gave a gift to a scared young mother, his spirit and humor.  I remember him sharing things about himself that I share with fondness.  One revelation being that he was actually born named:   Paul Rennée Belobersycky on July 21, 1972 (age 43).

Paul is lending his celebrity to help victims of the Fort McMurray wild fires, retweeting stories, offering other support.  Have a listen to this song that epitomizing the evacuation of this northern oil city:

Today, Kyle is known for his eternal optimism.  People, peers, teachers all exclaim: "I love Kyle" whenever his name comes up.  

Genetics aside reKNOWN 
One would think that a kid with those kinds of challenges, experienced bullying, had life saving surgery, and limitations physically galore, disrespected by employer with only $12.25 an hour after 8 years of service.  

Genius reSOUNDing
Kyle has found the voice for the #Mellennial generation.  He has the knack for seeing something and sharing it because it hit his coolness radar.  

Queer
Mostly oddly are unique and queer:  in a way that only the 80s gurus know that queer meant cool at that time in our lives.  So strange to discover that a word my generation resonated by would be exhumed to mean something so discriminatory and offensive a word :: eh?

I digressed again ::
I get sidetracked by an insight that is so profound I digress.  Let the mind sing and churn out only the "bestofeverything" :: #bestofeverything ::

Appreciation ::
It so easy to fall in love with Kyle :: the love that is universally channeled by motherhood :: sisterhood :: friendship :: cousin :: brother :: when Kyle gets something or anything, he has the magnetic gift of appreciation.  

Appreciation is something you can mimic enough that you start to feeling it from deep inside.  Emerging a guru who's spell you fell under :: Kyle, @flamesboy4eva get sidetracked by an insight that is so profound I digress.  Let the mind sing and churn out only the "bestofeverything" :: #bestofeverything ::

A strong conscience 
If there is anything that shows the story behind the story is one person who will emerge:: +Kyle S who has this seemingly giant perception radar on what is horribly unfortunate yet all too apparent in our society:  #corruption :: if there is any drum to bang on, Kyle has the uncanny knack for exposing it.  He took the guidance of a mother's continued nagging, repeating and repeating:  do not complain about your government if you're not prepared to do your civic and democratic right to vote.  Fond memory I recall is a discussion amongst my children on a warm summer's day ::

I would always begin with a celebratory atmosphere based merely on a whim :: hardly a birthday or annual event to create such excitement :: where I would set up the table on the patio, put up the Umbrella, in anticipation of the mere pleasure of having company.

Keeping them curious
Politics was something I started talking with my kids early about.  It is funny looking back at how each of them have convictions or causes that resonate within each of them :: feminism, corruption, mental health :: began at those early spirited gatherings.  I wouldn't have known of any secret motherhood ingredient I was giving my children :: keeping them curious.

Regardless of whether they could vote being that it was a good decade away, they were encouraged to have a voice on what is wrong with this world?  The earliest memory of Chantal was the detail I went through with gut-wrenching honesty, the list of items retrieved and inventoried on a list that was to go back to school the next day :: my very first, and maybe the first environmentalists of the #Millennial generation. 

Charitable causes the norm
Imagine my pure pleasure and surprise that should give her a pass for having a home that cared about its planet.  That is because coffee grounds, vegetables, fruit rinds, peelings, soup, meat, gravy, moldy bread, sour milk, burt something, failed recipe, were always put garburator  to work.   The cans were rinsed in a Rubbermade bucket (long before the engenius inventor of a blue recycle bin, talk about explosive idea for this generation to the next).  I am definitely sure that it was before plastics were recycled except milk 2 litres recycling at bottle depots.  That was before grade schools asked for donations of buckets for crafts and pop caps for charitable causes were even considered BTW (twitter-ese for 140 characters or less).


A louder voice
These open ended hearty discussions were encouraged and embraced.  Looking back now, I see how it could boost Kyle's confidence that his opinion mattered and was his purest gift ::  if there is a cause that is because of corruption, you will not hear a louder voice.

Good stock
Kyle is at the front of the line recognizing the attributes he inherited from his parents :: from me he says my outgoing friendliness and optimism :: times at least a dozen.  From his father, a work ethic, financial responsibility, and commitment.  And just this Mother's Day Kyle is confidently sharing the gifts he received from his stepfather named "Rob".  He said it was his sarcastic, dry humor.  That, and the fact that they both seem to like the same games and are gamers together. 

Talk about wisdom
If you are having trouble communicating with your Millennial sons, and the admitted desire to want to reach out and connect, you should try the ingredient that Rob and Kyle have discovered :: you can't go merely through the motions however.  You have to dedicate yourself like you have never before to find a way you will enjoy gaming with a world to uncover. 

It is a secret world
Where escapism meets participation via gaming.  A social (perhaps hidden) personality who had more to give and share by unmasking imagination and team work.  Where the testosterone is checked at the door.  Where men could safely become men and male examples rise to the top.  


To be continued ...... (daughters beware)

Meandering Musings

Often (or I used to be anyhow) I am asked about a particular look :: you'd better catch me wearing it so I'd remember :: because I'm a shopaholic shopping fashionista - here me CLICK!  (I'm going to experiment and give my choicest sites to get that "Fix ").

I'm also gonna write about how to shop guilt-free :: tips | tricks to hide "the evidence".
I think I'll make into a series within my Meanderings about .... blog.  It is here where I let my creativity rip. Whatever  makes me unhinged.

The beauty of writing your own blog (or in my case a few), you are the master of your domain :: really, truly amazing eh?

Call me an optimist, but I really think ladies in their 50s, post menopausal, fire breathing divas, are going to like my blog.  I have faith that once the storm hits, the blog will go viral and maybe I'll even attract a few major brands endorsement on my site :: of which they will pay me in money and gifts in kind (the ones they want me to try and review for women 50+). 

Sound fanciful?  Not really when you think about it, a gazillion percent of the world's population are women 50+.   They call the shots in their lives and influence those around them.  Confident and classy in sync with their inner voice, they need or want a laugh, raise their eyebrows once again, or pat their heart in sisterhood memories davine. 

It will be merged to become one unanimous collaborative voice for women born 1960 or later.  It will eventually be a club, which will charge fees for its membership.  Where only the truly gifted or inspirational women voice will be invited to blog :: about what matters, reflects how we feel, want to be more optimistic, smarter, or look classier.

It will start here.  The place where I discovered my foundling, the #bestofeverything hashtag.  Where inspiration to be the best of anything was born.    I've made some truly amazing connections, interactors, professional, artistic, creative people from around the world.  Alot of fiction writers, since I'm a prolific reader and far fewer of those that feed my knowledge junkie.

The first 50 commenters (subscribers) will automatically be invited into the Fashionista Club.  Fashionista being defined as:  a fabulously feminine,  fashionable, polished lady.  More likely in their 50s but not excluding the daughter Millennials who caught the wisdom of their mothers of studying and approving their lives by the women of influence before them.

  

Please enjoy the time you  spend with me.  

I enjoy having you along on

 my journey.

:: Love Jeannette ::

P.S.  Let me know what you think of my new page :: design/theme?  If you want a web image consultation, let me know, and we'll see what we can come up with together.

Lil bit of attitude

"Oh, my, this one has attitude!" exclamed the delivery nurse.  Who may have been saying "here's another one" to the tired, adrenaline-rushed parents of this newborn creation ..... of theirs.

 A mixture of disbelief and amazement as this gaze upon this near perfect little human girl.  Minutes from being in a warm, comfortable womb.  Indignant at the harsh introduction she hadn't anticipated she let out a howl.

This little beauty grew and grew:  and sang "take me out to the Ball Game" at a mere 16 months.  As a party favor, she blasted through the adults polite conversation, as their jaws dropped and gaped open at a special experience unfolded.  Discussion began.  How amazing is it that a little burst of energy could sing to the rafters, in such abandon, glorying in the musical flutes her own tonsils gave. Oblivious to the expressions of anyone around her.  She liked bursting out and singing.  Her abandon to anything akin to self-conscious expression.  The audience crossed between envy and awe.  How could such a little thing stand up, be so proud, and sing with such abandon?  At ONLY 16 months.

The parents who were always ready with a video camera were stunned into inaction.  The musical notes combined with gusto and self-exuberance.  How could they have created such a ... umm... creature?  Alas, it was a daughter.  They should have had their seat belts tightened.  Yet they didn't do anything. Why should they?  They weren't puppeteers, merely creators.  

They wondered, however, how can they take credit for such a beauty with such a powerful voice? 

As the little girl developed and continued to grow became as ever a sight to behold.  At 2, this confident, clever,  creation would insist that she was a princess.  Her hard-working mother and father fascinated, would wonder:  how could a princess be born and insist she was one.  They  were, although not average folk, wondered how they could be responsible for this envisioned little lady?  

Then, one day, when the father was away at work, slagging dragons called life and career, the mother bent over a captive keyboard for job.  A nanny, on call, living out, ever present, vacuuming the castle always to shine, was focussed on leaving a tread in the carpet, hadn't noticed her charge, who had transformed into an escapee to her mother's home office.  Sneaking in, quietly, taking and absorbing every last detail.  Alas, the mother noticed the scamp in her midst.  The little joy did ask: "Mommy, what are you doing?"

Lest the mother cause disillusionment of the responsibility of working and career, she tenderly said:  "I am working.  When you grown up, you will likely work too.  What is it that you think you'll do too?

The predictable reply did unfold "why, when I am grown up, I will be a princess!" Said with such convincement, less mortal men or mothers would never argue.  However, the mother did sigh.  She then glanced around, realizing that the King was not home nor was the princess' guard on command.

She did try to dispell the disillusionment which chance had burst, said to her darling daughter with such thirst, for life, for dreams, goals and confidence:  "why Sweetie, you will be princess when I am a queen!"  Rationalizing that being realistic of drastic importance.

Then to her utter dismay her daughter did respond:  "Why mommy, I didn't know that you were a queen!!"

The days grew onwards and upward the girl grew, when tragedy did brew.  The media, the news, the television, no matter how one flew, protested the death of a princess many thought they knew.

When dinner one day, was being prepared by her mother.  As the news and the television broadcast the cover:  A princess died while so many fed .. on the photos, paparazzi with the princess photos they led.  How sad to have such a wonderful soul cut short, would end up causing this young four-year-old lady to retort:  "That is so sad to hear about the princess."

The mother, astonished, that this little girl wisdom, attuned to the news and the stories that bloomed.  She asked her daughter, in parenting skills on high alert, how do you feel about this story?  The daughter said "Sad".  The mother now curious, nowhere near mad.  Asked her little one why would she say so.  When the gem said "well, I am a princess, so this one I should know".

This is a reflection of a mother, rediscovering the journey she started with her daughter.  She has just turned 23, in second year of university, dedicated to  fine arts, art history and philanthropy.  

A mother's pride never diminishes with age.  If anything, it flourishes as cheerleading captain of her daughter's journey.  

Happy Birthday sweet, beautiful daughter O mine.

Nutrition counts with age

“If you don’t take care of your body, where are you going to live?”  ~Unknown

The oddest thing happened.  When I got home last night, my husband pointed out a HUGE box of overflowing fruits and vegetables, saying they were sitting on our doorstep.

My first reaction was it would be my wonderful, nutritious-oriented daughter because we had talked about having a bake or make day -- try making pies or I'd show her how I make my popular bruschetta from the tomatoes I grew in my very own garden!  She was not responsible, however, didn't hesitate to say she'd swing by to pick up some.

There were two bags of different apples, a big bag of oranges, about 7 zucchini, more apples, about 50 kiwi -- it was amazing!

My second conspirator I thought of was my best friend who had just returned from Victoria after dropping her son off to begin his first year of university.  After exchanged texts this morning, I discovered it wasn't her.

Hmmmm, the plot thickens.  Who is our guardian angel or fairy godmother?  

What was so fascinating about this was I had just said at work, after a colleague shared pieces of heavenly nectarine, that I had been craving fruit but with my crazy schedule, hadn't made it to the grocery store.  I had it on my TO DO list for today, my first day and only day off for a week.

I haven't really talked about the fact that I had been diagnosed with Type II Diabetes a year and a half ago.  I keep it firmly in the closet, keeping it private.  Sadly, I took it hard and a sign that my youth and vitality may be failing and a sign of imperfection, almost embarrassment.

I worked with a dietician referred to by my doctor, who said that I already had the basics of a good diet that just needed tweaking.  Basically, like any good nutrition plan, you have to increase the amount of fruits and vegetables and scale down sugar (obviously) and surprisingly carbohydrates.  

Stress and lifestyle can also impact your health dramatically.  My job is shift work and it seems to have impacted my blood sugar levels.  Before, I would get up by 7am, have a yogurt with fruit or a muffin with my Metformin and then another pill with lunch of usually a sandwich full of veggies.

Unfortunately, my schedule is really off kilter.  I can work from 1pm to 9pm, then the next few days 10am to 6pm, followed by 12:30-8:30pm.  It doesn't lend itself to a diet routine.

I'm not stressed by any means.  My kids have all left home and are smoothly sailing into adulthood with one moved to Vancouver, employed, nice boyfriend and living with my brother, safe and sound.  My other is starting her second year of university, a little turbulent because she was working 3 jobs to help fund her love to travel.  My stepdaughter is into owning her own condo, engaged and to be married next summer.  I do worry about my son and his lifestyle, with alcohol as a companion, a bit more than I'd like.

Overall, life is pretty balanced.  I've doted on my garden with my best friend, Buddy by my side.  I've been decompressing with painting and self-expression by blogging.

BUT, the big BUT.  I can't fool the meter that tests my blood sugar.  It has been higher than normal for the past few weeks.  It stands out to me that it is my diet that is causing things to go amuck.  I realize that it takes discipline to have a routine on your eating, not just what you eat.  Surprising, but revealing.

I've known and been aware, that when you don't take the time to plan your menu or have the proper supply nearby, it is easy to lean on a greater amount of carbohydrates.  Those are an enemy of balance.  

It takes me an hour to get home, so it's peanut butter toast for dinner.  Not a whole lot of calories yet mostly carbs.

I still am going to go crazy wondering who dropped off this huge box of goodies?  Is there such a thing as a guardian angel?  Or is it my karma:  what I've been thinking and saying lately?

Regardless of its origins, it emphasizes how important one's routine AND nutritional balance is.  Not many of us have the wakeup call a diagnosis like Diabetes is to realize that we have to watch what we eat and take the extra effort on balance.  

My dietician emphasized that I have the misfortune of genetics against me.  My father had diabetes and so had my younger brother and older sister - so that compounded the likelihood.  As she pointed out, I was pretty good at recognizing and following a balanced diet.  Her best advice was to visualize my plate where the carbs are balanced by vegetables.  So it isn't like you are going without anything in particular, it is more about offsetting it with more vegetables.

It was like a wake up call, that when you hit 50, it is more than ever important.  What was further surprising, was that my older brother recently had been diagnosed.  Similar to us, he and his wife follow a pretty disciplined diet.  The curse of genetics fell on him too.  He doesn't know that I know, my mother told me so I would feel better.  

I hazard a guess that my brother took it the same way I did:  a stroke of misfortune that is taken with embarrassment.  Especially to those consciously watching what they eat, how much.  He plays hockey every week with guys half his age.  Heck, his wife makes his lunch every day because she knows he is a bit of a junk food junkie and if she didn't, he'd be going through a drive-thru every day.  

We're of a generation now where so many are baby boomers hitting their 60s.  I'm a fair ways off, yet the reminder hit me flat in the face.  If I want to continue to be the vibrant, energetic person I'm reputed to be, I will have to pull up my socks and put any excuses aside, forget the blame on genetics and just get to it.

I realized writing this that one very important matter is exercise:  with the shift work, it hasn't leant itself to my walks with my dog for exercise.  You know, what they keep saying balanced diet + exercise = health.

I may take care of my appearance, love fashion, proud of my newling garden skills, and emphasis on balance.  I have to admit that I've slid some and need to smarten up.  My life depends on it.

"The best doctor gives the least medicine."

~Benjamin Franklin

p.s. my neighbour, who was my next culprit on my list of thoughtful, caring people who would have possibly dropped the treasure trove of goodies off on my doorstep, just came by with her wonderful homemade apple jelly (positive karma again!) did not give us them.  The plot thickens.  She did say I could make kiwi jelly.  Time to get off to get some fresh basil to make some bruschetta.  I'll share the recipe later.  Good times, good eats, good friends.  Lucky me!

p.s.s. It turns out that the fruit came from my lovely daughter and fiance.  I had pondered with hubby, neighbour, other daughter (while I was going through process of elimination), after wracking my brain, considering my sister.  I did think of her and her fiance but strongly considered that they don't each much fruit.  Never striking me that they would have gotten the fruit from someone from work, and BECAUSE they don't eat fruit, they'd give it away.  It wasn't meant as a surprise.  They simply dropped it off on their way from work, meaning to text us or tell us next time. It was a wonderful, beautiful gesture cloaked in mystery, landing squarely on fits and giggles.  All good for the soul.

Angels among us

I was offline for a few days.  Mostly because we had a wicked thunderstorm that took my internet and TV for a tailspin.  TV I don't mind.  You may as well cut my right hand off when it is the internet connection.

Funny how important being online becomes.  Call it an addiction or a very strong desire to be connected.  I'd like to think it is a little bit of both.

The other matter why I was distracted was because of a tragedy that struck my sister.  I've been known to give her a lot of credit for years because she has the patience of a saint and is truly an angel among us.  Both her and her husband.
 

As a bystander, sister, and family member, it has been amazing to watch how she could be a Foster Mom to special needs children and those nobody else would want to help.  I have to sadly admit that if I were to lend a hand for a child, I would be inclined to help a fully functioning one.  Not my big sis.  She reaches out as a Foster Mom, with her strong religious beliefs to give her strength and her genuine big heart, to help those children that fall into "the system" because of the shortcomings of their natural parents.  She has had kids envelope into her home that had moms that were prostitutes and abused.  She has opened her arms to those that have severe disabilities that are scratched off of anyone looking to adopt a child because they want a brand new baby, like a clean slate, to enter into their homes.  Not my sister.  She didn't debate or reflect on the impact, she just brought them in.

I always admired her and her husband's patience, love and strength to bring a child into their home that was not of their making but to make the most of the child.  It extended beyond them to their own three children who made it a part of their family and brought acceptance into their world.

Over the years there have been some sad situations these children were born to.  They were never sad to my sister or her husband, they were children that needed help.  They opened their arms, gave them their heart and absorbed their needs as their own.

We hear about Foster Parents.  Often it is shocking, rarely is it about the ones that are angels.  My sister is such an angel.  Gifted with children as others are talented building businesses, amassing money, or finding fortune.  She should be rich as a reward for what she has done for these many lost children from lost souls called parents. 

The "system" takes these kids from parents that cannot cope with them.  Whether it is because they have trouble with addictions, poor lifestyles, or simply unable to nurture the child that they brought into the world.  Thank heaven their are angels like my sister who reaches out to bring them into her arms and love them.  Unconditionally. 

Such was the good fortune of a young boy when he was four.  His mother had already four children by different fathers and she was only 24.  Social services decided that she was not fit for this boy and he was put out into the system.  Thankfully, my sister was there.

At four, he was unable to speak or communicate his needs nor accustomed to a loving home.  That changed when he walked into my sister's home.  He learned sign language and his frustrations were minimalized by just being able to express himself.  Eventually he could say a couple of words, only a couple, yet Ma-Ma and Da-Da meant the world.

He had a unique smile and it reached the soul of anyone he shone it on.  He had a goofy, fun personality that even my own kids grew to adore and accept.  Our family knew that a visit from my sister and her family was sure to include him.  It went without saying.

Lucky for me and my children, we learned from him.  Sure he did things that were different - from a boy with special needs.  Certainly, he had a contagious smile that allowed any of us to forget that.  He touched others in a way that extended beyond words.  He tested our boundaries on what is normal.   He taught  us acceptance.


This boy grew and grew.  He was perhaps bigger than many his same age, with a bigger heart than most.  Unfortunately, he started to have seizures.  Often unprovoked, unexpected and without cause.  This was distressing to my sister, but never faltered her love or commitment  to help this boy.

This past week, on the morning of Canada Day, July 1st, my sister was making blueberry pancakes, the boy's favorite.  Oddly, the smell didn't bring him to the kitchen so she asked her husband to go wake him up.  Sadly, he couldn't be woken up.  He had passed away during the night from a seizure.

My sister's heart is broken.  He was the love of her life and every new gesture, sign or smile showed promise.  It was never clear whether he was her angel or she was his.  What was to be was there were two angels among us.