For All the Teachers...

After the day I've had, I have a few things on my mind.

This blog is for all the teachers, all the parents whose children do or will ever attend school, all the people who know teachers, all the people who are friends of, parents of, siblings of, neighbours of or acquainted with teachers. Basically, if you are a member of the human race, this is for you.

So read it.
Get it.
Remember it.

Rumour has it that there are two types of teachers: the kind that put in a lot of time and really put their hearts into their work and the kind who are just there to make a pay cheque. But the truth is that I don't really know any teachers who fall into the second category, mostly because no one in their right mind would ever be a teacher just to make a buck. They would never last.

Every teacher I know fits into that first category. To say that they "put their hearts" into their work is a vast understatement. Let me tell you about all the teachers I work with now or have worked with in Small Town Ontario.

These teachers work their butts off.
They come early and stay late.
They put more time into arranging their classrooms than their living rooms.
They eat standing up or over top of their lesson plans. If they do make it down to the staff room the conversation is 95% work related.
They spend hours of time on evenings and weekends marking, planning, Pinterest-ing (is that a word now?) ideas, and thinking of new ways to engage the children in their classes.
They spend their own money on supplies. A lot of money.
They think, dream, breathe, and sweat teaching.
Their hearts ache when the year is over and their students, their children, move onwards and upwards.
Their hearts swell and their eyes well when they see that figurative lightbulb light up above a child's head. That "aha" moment, whether it is finally learning how to print their first name or solving the quadratic equation, never, EVER gets old.
On school days they spend more time with their students than their own children.
They care more for their students than those students' parents could ever know.
They often feel personally responsible when a student doesn't quite "get it", but rarely take the credit when students do.
They want parents to know how much work goes into educating their child but would never, could never really tell them.

They want to be appreciated and respected.

I've had a day.
I've had much worse and I've had much better but still, if I could put this day back in the pack and draw another one I probably would. It was the kind of day where I'm always feeling just one step behind and not quite good enough. It was the kind of day where I wish I felt as confident as I pretended to be. It was the kind of day where I wish I could cover up the heart on my sleeve. It was the kind of day where a hug from a 6 year old went a very long way.

And so friends, family, and random people who have stumbled upon this blog, if you don't mind taking a little pearl from these self-indulgent but ever-so-cathartic ramblings, please take this:
Teachers care more than you will ever know. So if you are ever tempted to throw a comment here or a little joke there, just keep that in the back of your mind.

Your words and actions have power.
And they sting.

And now back to your regularly scheduled program...

Mel.

It's Not Me, It's You...Really

In the past few years I have experienced several major life events. Throughout these times I have learned a lot about myself. I learned that when planning a wedding I am able to take a relatively limited budget and a small town church hall and turn it into everything I ever wanted. I learned then when I am pregnant I can draw upon energy I didn't think I had when necessary, but that when given the chance I will fall asleep at 8:00 but only on the couch so I can still "spend time" with Hubby. I learned that upon hearing that I must move across the country I might get pretty pissed at first but in the end I'm the type of person who perceives this kind of major change as a "silver lining" opportunity. I learned that the anticipation of going back to work after a full year off with Monkey was much worse than the actual change, and I learned that if you're really lucky, you can find someone to watch your child and trust that person much, much more than you ever thought possible. I learned that starting a home-based business is very difficult but that I really love owning my own business and working for myself. And I learned, a rather long time ago, actually, that I love being part of a community. The military community, the teacher community, the Mommy community, the wife community, the daughter/sister/friend community, the Arbonne community.

As much as all of these experiences and many more and all of those to come shed light on my own character, what I find equally if not more interesting is how that same light portrays the important people in my life. It is when you need something (physical or emotional) from your friends and family that you catch a little glimpse of who that person is right now, what their priorities are. Hubby has been away for a month (and comes home tonight!). During that same month I started not one but two new jobs and Monkey started daycare. I have one friend who I've known less than 5 months who made a point of knowing that she was there for me during this month, that I could ask anything of her despite the fact that for half the time her hubby was away, too. I have neighbours who knew that I was alone and took the time to shovel my driveway when it snowed. I have family that call extra, email extra, say extra "I love you's" because they can appreciate, even if they can't completely relate, to how difficult it is to work two jobs, take care of a house and four pets and a 14 month old all my myself. But on the other side of the coin there are people who either don't know or don't seem to care about this or other major life events. They're "busy", of course. It is tempting to take this lack of involvement personally, but in a recent conversation with my sister I came to realize that it isn't personal. Really, it has nothing to do with me. What people don't do, don't say, speaks volumes about them.
But it sure is eye-opening.

Take care
Mel

Not So Scary

It's been a little over a month since my last post but so much has happened!
Here's the skinny on this curvy Mama:

1. I went back to work...times two! I was offered a part time Kindergarten position which I grabbed with the same excitement and small amount of drool that my dogs take an empty peanut butter jar. As you will recall I did NOT want to go back to work, I wanted to stay home with Monkey forever and ever. Well now I'm singing a different tune because this arrangement is just so damned perfect. I work 2-3 days a week which means I get the other 2-3 days home with Monkey. And my fears about how he would be at daycare are GONE. Our daycare lady, Miss E, is so awesome. She and her hubby, Grampa C, are now Monkey's third set of Grandparents. After a brief adjustment period Monkey now loves going there and as much as I miss him (the first day my body literally ached I missed him so much) I am loving the chance to be back in my profession and I really love every second. It is the perfect balance.

2. I mentioned having two jobs. In the same week that I started teaching Kindergarten I also started my own business! I love, love, love, love working for myself and the team with whom I am working could not be more awesome. I will NOT turn this blog into an advertising forum for my own business, so I'll simply say that I am looking to expand my team and if this is something you might be interested in please leave me a comment with your email address and I will contact you (you won't regret it! So awesome! Going to earn me a BENZ, BABY!)

3. Hubby has gone away at the same time as jobs 1 and 2 began AND Monkey started daycare because as you know, that's how we roll in this lifestyle! So Monkey and I have handled most of the adjustment ourselves but we are in knee deep now and it's all going very well.

4. We have adopted three baby orang-utans.

Just kidding.
That would be insane.
But the list looked short at just 3 things so I thought I'd add a fourth.

So all the fear, anxiety, sleeplessness, glasses of wine, conversations, nightmares and so on and so forth were for nothing, really. Well, except the wine, that's never for nothing. In 30 days my life has changed so much and I am rockin' and rollin' and loving every second. Except the many seconds around the 3:30am mark when Monkey wakes up and due to his never-ending cough cannot get back to sleep. But the rest of them are great.

Now we're just counting down until Hubby comes home and then things will be truly perfect.

Until the adoption is processed for the orang-utans.

Take care and have a glass of wine!!
:) Mel

The Roller Coaster of Being a Woman

Women: You know when you're PMSing but you haven't realized it yet and your moods are going up and down and you're crying because it's raining and you feel that you may as well lay down and die because your life sucks so bad because you just stubbed the same toe for the second time in one day?

Moms: You know when you're pregnant and this is pretty much just a way of life for 9 months and then right after you have the baby you turn into a crazy person who is so hormonal and over-tired that you're crying over your dinner plate and you have no idea why?

Does this end at some point?
Ok I'm not crying and it isn't raining and I'm far away from those postpartum "Night Time Crazies" as Hubby and I so affectionally called them. But I do feel really emotional and easily irritated. I feel I can owe this lovely bouquet of feelings to three things:

1. I really am PMSing (oh, but to any men who are reading this, if you EVER use terms like, "I think you're just PMSing right now" or "Don't you think you're being a little bit hormonal?" we WILL castrate you. With a butter knife. Thankfully I have married a man who would never in his wildest dreams even think of saying something like that even when we both know it's completely true, but I trust that not all men are so smart).

2. I have to go back to work soon. Very soon.

3. As implied in my previous post, Hubby is being sent away. Again. For a month. At the exact same time that I have to go back to work.

So this trifecta of awesomeness has led me to become the type of woman who gets annoyed when Hubby tells me he'll be home 15 minutes later than normal and who feels sad and sappy at Monkey's bath time every night thinking about how this is just one more bath time closer to having to leave him three days a week and how soon bath time will be one of the only moments I'll get with him on those days.

This may be a huge stereotype, but I think this is kind of a woman thing. I feel like men wouldn't put that much thought into bath times and what they mean and all that hoo-ha, and they certainly wouldn't care about being 15 minutes late. But I'm not a man (obviously) so I don't think this way. Don't get me wrong, I know some men would get all sappy at the mere sight of baby wash and women who wouldn't give it a second thought, but it's just my general opinion on the matter. And this is my blog so if you don't agree with me, well that's just too bad. If you feel strongly enough on the matter then start your own blog and disagree there.

But I digress.
What was I saying?
Oh yes, emotional roller coaster.
So basically I have to go back to work soon. Like, last week kind of soon. I don't want to. This is not a secret but hubby and I have agreed that although we COULD swing it if I didn't go back to work, things would be tougher. And I want to be able to order things from www.babysteals.com without having to also sacrifice meals throughout the week. I want to be able to take Monkey to Disney World when he's older. I want to be able to take him to Ontario and Newfoundland to see his family more than once in a blue moon (I've heard those are rare). I want to be able to buy him lots of books from the book clubs when he's in school. I want to buy him a computer when he's older. I want to buy him a Newfoundland dog named Otis who can pull him on a beautiful sleigh made of bamboo and laden with organic cotton blankets to keep him warm. And I know we won't be able to do these things if I stay home.

Sigh.
Is it this hard for everyone? There is a large part of me that feels kind of mad at Hubby's other wife, Mrs. Military, because I rather think that if I knew Hubby would be home every single night to help with dinner and feeding the four Fur Babies and taking out the garbage and cleaning and laundry and checking the mail and paying the bills then I could be a teensy bit more relaxed about this. But not only is this so NOT the case but I get to experience all this single handedly right off the bat. I guess I'm diving in head first. With my arms tied behind my back. And bricks tied to my ankles.

But hey, we all do it, right? So I guess I just need to bite the bullet and do it. Get my butt in gear and get back to work. I've heard it's not so bad when you get into it...so I will.

Eventually.

But for now I'm going to try to enjoy every moment and not think of it as the "last this" or the "last that". But I might still be annoyed if Hubby comes home 18 1/2 minutes late from work. And I might still cry if it rains. And dammit! It HURTS when you stub your toe so I'll be mad about that, too, if I want to!

There.
I'm done.
The end.

Mel.

A letter to the Minister of National Defence - Love, Mel

Dear Mr. MacKay (Minister of National Defence),

I am writing to you today with a little suggestion that I think might make a vast difference in the Canadian Military. By taking my suggestion you will more than likely find that your soldiers are much happier and therefore easier to work with and more productive. It goes without saying that in today's age of budget cut-backs this would be monumentally helpful.

I suggest that at each military base across Canada you hire an official Wives' Interests and Family Excellence Officer (WIFE-O). The job of this WIFE-O would be a difficult and multi-faceted one, obviously first serving the best interests of the wives and families of your military members. Being a military spouse is no easy task, however I firmly believe that an official WIFE-O would make it much easier.

Here is a brief job description of the WIFE-O:

1. To give the wives a sense that there is someone looking out for THEIR interests.

2. To offer assistance to wives when settling into a new posting (Don't get me wrong, the MFRC (Military Family Resource Centre) is a wonderful and much needed resource. However the WIFE-O would offer information that the MFRC cannot, such as the best liquor stores in town and the rental of trashy movies and books to wives of deployed CF members).

3. To offer incentives to wives of deployed members. These incentives may include but are not limited to:
- automatic weekly flower deliveries while husbands are away or working an intense period of overtime
- automatic pizza delivery on Friday nights
- automatic wine deliveries daily
- maid service. All the time.
- extra funds provided for Retail Therapy
- snow removal in winter*
- grass mowing in summer*
- car repairs when necessary*
- general home maintenance when necessary*

(Note: incentives with an asterisk (*) are best provided by an insanely sexy, well-toned man)

Mr. MacKay, you may be wondering why such a position is truly necessary. After all, wives have been following their husbands around from posting to posting for years without such a person, so why now? Well to be honest, it's most likely that no one has thought of it before. But here is why you should not delay in the creation of this new position:

When a wife learns that her husband is being sent away again, she gets cranky. Really, really cranky. If recent news is correct you have just become a married man yourself (congratulations!) so I am sure you have already figured this out. Why do we get so cranky? Well it often feels that we are expected to follow our husbands around the country like pretty little puppies. We move to towns far from everyone and everything we know and care about. We lose our jobs. We single parent and single home-manage without a second thought given to us. We often hear and quickly hate the phrase, "You knew what you were getting into!" when we try to explain our feelings and frustrations. We quickly become adjusted to being our husbands' second wives but never like it any better. Schedules are changed at the last minute throwing our plans which were dodgy at best right out the window. In short, no one really seems to give a poop about us. We get a little nod at social events every now and then, and heck, I even received a set of wine glasses from one posting (and let me tell you, that almost made it all worth while). So yes, at the words, "Honey, I'm going away again", the wives get cranky. And when the wife gets cranky, life probably isn't so great for her husband. This negativity is then carried through into his job and results in a downward spiral of bad morale in the workforce which then spreads like an infectious disease to the rest of the members and then leads to low productivity in the entire unit. Your troops become negative, cynical and depressed. Obviously these are not the qualities we aim to see.

As previously mentioned, appointing a WIFE-O to serve at each base in Canada will greatly help diminish these problems. To feel as though there is someone that cares about us, that has at least considered us when our husbands are away, would make all the difference.

Please feel free to contact me at your convenience to discuss this matter further. Oh, and in addition, I volunteer to be the first hired, so there is no need to worry about that.

Thank you and I look forward to your call.
Sincerely,
Mel

P.S. If, after very careful consideration, you come to the conclusion that the hiring of a WIFE-O is not immediately possible, there is one other option: Give us a break and let us keep our husbands home for once. Please.

Those Crazy Newfies

Newfies are a punch line. Right? They aren't real, intelligent people. They're just silly East Coast Canadians that talk funny and are the butt of a million different jokes.

Right?

If this is your honest opinion than I have to ask: do you actually know any "Newfies"? Have you spent time with anyone from that province? Have you *gasp* ever actually BEEN to Newfoundland? 

I did the unspeakable. I did what anyone from central or western Canada thinks of as a clear sign of insanity.

I married a Newfoundlander.

Hubby and I met online where his screen name was "Romantic Newfie" so I wasn't exactly going into this blind. I met a wonderful, funny, intelligent, handsome man who quickly stole my heart.

And then I met his family. The first person I met from Hubby's family was Nan P. It was the middle of the night and we were stopping in to spend the night at her house since it was in between St. John's and Hubby's Home Town so it meant we didn't have to do the whole drive in one shot. We pulled into the driveway around 2am, and she was there at the door in her nightgown, her right arm holding open the door and her left arm enveloping me in a hug before I was even in the house, "Come in, my ducky!". That image of Nan in her nightgown in the middle of the dark, summer's night, holding the door open for us will not soon leave my mind. It pretty much summarizes what I think of as "the Newfie way".

In case you've never spent any time in small-town Newfoundland, here's how it may differ from what you know:

Newfoundland: Everyone is welcome, any time all the time. Even if you're not we'll pretend                you are :)  What's a doorbell? Come on in!

Everywhere else: Please call ahead, my schedule might be full. If we don't really like you then don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out!

Newfoundland: Takes two hours to pick up milk and cheese because the store is 40 minutes away and because you know every person in there.

Everywhere else: Takes two minutes to pick up milk because there are three stores on every corner and you didn't speak to a soul in there.

Newfoundland: At Christmas you must visit with all of your friends twice: once at your house and once at their house. Plans are made between a week and 20 minutes in advance.

Everywhere else: At Christmas you may or may not see all of your friends at all depending on how quickly everyone's schedules fill up. Plans must be made by August. The year before.

Newfoundland: Strangers call you "my love", "my darling", "my ducky", "my dolly" and " 'by".

Everywhere else: Strangers don't really speak to you at all, and if they call you "' by" it is spelled differently and means something else altogether.

I know what you're thinking: "Okay, I get it. Newfoundlanders are friendly. Move on."

But it's more than that. Before ever coming here all I really knew was that Newfies were the butt of a good many jokes and certainly not the type of people you would model yourself after. After six and a half years of visiting this province I am singing a vastly different tune.

The people I have met here are kind. They are open and funny and welcoming and honest. But do you know what strikes me the most? They are proud, fiercely proud to be called a Newfoundlander. They are proud of their homes and their families and their province and their flag. (How many times have I seen an Ontario flag outside someone's home? Um....twice?). Everything made in Newfoundland is better than anything made anywhere else. The wind is stronger, the air is fresher, the soil more fertile (and they would say the men are, too!). The winters are worse and their springs are better than anywhere in the world. I think my mother-in-law might say even a Newfoundland peanut butter sandwich is better than one made anywhere else, just because it's made here in Newfoundland by a Newfoundlander.

Maybe that all sounds silly. Maybe. But I don't think so. I think if we were all able to be that proud, that passionate, that caring about our own provinces and hometowns that that couldn't be a bad thing. Could it?

Oh, and there are a few things that I now feel licensed to clarify:

First and foremost, it is NOT pronounced NewFOUNDland. It is NewfoundLAND, which, as my father-in-law would tell you, rhymes with underSTAND. Get it right, people!

Screech is a rum, not just a really loud sound. If you come here you must be "Screeched In" to become an honorary Newfie. This experience might be one of the most fun times you will ever have (just ask all our wedding guests who partook in this experience the night before our wedding!).

Finally, people from Newfoundland sometimes speak differently than you might. They have different turns of speech and I would say they have an accent (which, by the way, differs according to where in the province they're from). It's a dialect and they are as entitled to speak that way as you are to speak the way you do. It doesn't make them less intelligent although often it does make them completely incomprehensible.

So anyway, that's just my two cents. Which are better than your two cents because I'm offering them while I'm here in Newfoundland.

So long may your big jib draw!

:) Mel

               

On Monkey Turning One...

11:59....
12:00.

I turned my gaze from the clock back down to the baby nestled in the crook of my arms. Eyes closed, arms heavy, mouth slightly open, and a tiny bead of milk, still warm, on his chin. My heart swelled, I sighed, and felt the tears burning my eyes.

I will not cry.

At a time in the night that I am often more than a little annoyed to be the only person in my family awake, I felt blessed that I saw this precise moment. It was a gift that I had been given that no one else could ever, ever have. My moment alone to savour and reflect.

I will not cry.

What was so momentous about this exact minute? This turning of the clock from one day to the next? Midnight marked the beginning of December 28, 2011. My first baby's first birthday. My teeny, tiny little nugget, born at just 6 lbs, 1 oz, was now a 21 lbs giggling, crawling, babbling, mischief-making, 1 year-old cherub.

What has taken place over the past 365 days? How has my life changed? How has our family changed?

The tears began to flow. I made no effort to stop them.

Any mother - no, any parent can tell you what a difference a year makes, how much happens in that first year of life. Not just the growing and developing that your baby does but also how you as parents grow. How the first few days of being a parent feels like a surreal, out of body experience. How the first four months are somewhat awkward and filled with days of running the gamut: play mat, tummy time, nursing, napping, repeat. How those months feel like you will never have a schedule ever again, never eat without a baby attached to your boob (ok, just the mothers will attest to that), never sleep for more than two hours at a time.
Small movements, nearly invisible to the untrained eye, are celebrated with applause and in marching band style: "He lifted his head 2 1/2 millimetres off the floor - did you see that?!"; "He followed the cat with his eyes!"; "He smiled! He smiled! Even if it was because he farted, still, he smiled!".

Then, before you know it, things have changed. Nursing sessions are few and farther between; he's rolling over first one way then the other; he holds his own weight on his legs with your help. Faster than you thought possible you're packing away his clothes and bringing out the next size and before you know it the little sleepers that once looked huge are now tiny compared to the ones you just washed and put away. Rattles that wrap around his wrist are put away in exchange for little shakers. The play mat is packed away. Plugs must be covered. First the bottom shelves of your end tables must be cleared off, then the middle shelves, and now the tops are bare to avoid tiny hands grabbing and breaking things as you watch your toddler cruise along all the furniture. "He let go of the couch and stood for 3 seconds! Did you see?"; "Where did he go?! He crawls so fast!"; "I heard him say, "more", did you?"

It all changes so fast, but the funny thing is you never see it changing, really, until you look back at where you've come from. He never looks big to me. It's only when I look at pictures from months past that I see how small he was then and how big he is now. It's only when I hold up a onesie that he just had on a few weeks ago and compare it to the one he just spilled spaghetti on. Time just slips away. My maternity leave is up and I must soon return to work. My baby, my pal, my 24-7 best friend, will have to be looked after and "mothered" by someone else while I go back to work and look after other people's babies. Thankfully we have found what appears to be the Mother of All Day Care ladies, Mrs.E, and that takes the sting out of the bite. But still.

Part of me is mourning the loss of my baby. I know that sounds dramatic and thank God or my lucky stars or the Guy in the Sky or luck or fate or whatever you want to believe in that he has been such a healthy little guy. But that little baby who was so dependent on me for every little thing is gone. My son is still here of course, in front of me, grinning up at me with all 10 1/2 of his teeth, but he's a different child now. I love him more now than I did a year ago, although when I first looked into his tiny blue eyes I thought I could never love him more. And I know that tomorrow I will love him more than today. But my teeny, tiny little Monkey is growing up, and while I am thrilled to watch him grow and change and learn new things every day, it's also hard to let that little baby go. A friend of mine, Miss H, articulated it perfectly when she said that she supposes that's why so many couples decide to start trying for their next child when their first baby turns one, because as hard as it all was I can't wait to do it all over again.

But I will. Wait, that is. At least a year or two, for those of you who are wondering. So for the time being I will continue to marvel at the precious creature I see before me. I will appreciate the moments I have with him and try not to dwell on those he shares with Mrs. E while I'm not there. I will treasure his hugs and open mouthed kisses. I will kiss his little head when we snuggle in the night. I will cherish the midnights we spend together.

I love him now more than I ever have and tomorrow I will love him more again.
After all, he doesn't need to be a baby to be my baby.

Mel.