“it hurts”

“It hurts!” BoyGenius is holding his head, crying, sitting in front of the toilet, and between sobs he’s wailing “it hurts.” In his wretched, pitiful little voice I hear myself at the same age and I feel as helpless as my mother must have felt back then.

BoyGenius went up to bed at 9pm and awakes around 12:30am, the night leading up to Mothers’ Day, with a migraine. I can’t actually do anything to help him. Oh, I try. I give him a gravol and an ibuprofen even though I know it’s too late for them to help. I give him a cold washcloth and do most of the holding of it as it rests on his forehead. I tie his hair back into a loose ponytail so it doesn’t get covered in the vomit that will inevitably come. I murmur “I know, baby, I know,” as if hearing that between his own “it hurts” will be of some comfort.

And it’s true. I know. I have migraines. They started when I was about 7 or 8. BoyGenius’ started when he was 6 or 7. He got them from me. I got them from my dad. Dad got them from his mother. I don’t know which of her parents my grandmother got them from. My brothers were mostly spared, SkinnyGuy not really having any and BlueEyes suffering only once or twice. My cousins from my dad’s side got off scott-free, but their kids managed to keep the generational hand-me-down going.

But I digress. I manage to convince my little bundle of misery that we should move to the bed; it’ll be much more comfortable than the bathroom floor and I’ll have a bucket handy for the vomit that will inevitably come. I try to get him to lay still but he keeps twisting back and forth holding his head tight and sobbing. “It hurts. Oh. Owwwww. It hurts.” At one point he’s knocking on his head with his knuckles and I’m almost ready to take him to the ER. Then the inevitable happens. It comes in waves, with head pounding the whole time, 5 minute breaks in between, head still pounding for the most part. About half an hour into it the ibuprofen comes up, still a perfect little caplet form. I try to give him the benefit of my 40 years of experience with this beast and get some ginger ale into him. He doesn’t yet understand that the throwing up doesn’t stop just because your stomach’s empty. Doesn’t yet know that ginger ale coming up and out tastes infinitely better than bile. He also doesn’t know that those little breaks in the throwing up are a particularly cruel joke. You just about manage to doze off. There seems to be a lull in the pounding, even. Maybe it’s over. You open your eyes or move a toe or just blink. BLAM! Jackhammer starts and you better sit up quick ’cause here it comes again.

At about 1:15am he bolts up and heads to the bathroom. I take off after him and see that he’s sitting on the toilet. I put the bucket beside him and rewet the facecloth so it’s nice and cold. I notice he’s falling asleep, trying to rest his head against the seat lid behind him. He drifts off for a few seconds but that heavy-head-jerk (you know the one) wakes him back up. He takes the washcloth and wedges it between the base of his skull and toilet seat lid as a kind of pillow and catches a few winks. I ask every once in awhile if he’s ready to go back to bed but he keeps saying no. I talk him into believing he’s done on the toilet and direct him back to the bedroom. The bucket is still handy but I know that if he’s been able to get off the bed and into the bathroom and back to bed without having to throw up then that part’s over.

His little body is exhausted. He says his head still hurts but I can tell that even that is subsiding. He’s no longer rocking back and forth in agony. He’s able to close his eyes peacefully, no longer squeezing them shut against the pain. For this I am thankful. I breathe a little easier. I have been through this all before, from both sides, and I know that I will be here again. I know that I will feel just as helpless the next time a migraine makes itself at home in my house; less so if it’s my turn.

As I sit beside BoyGenius in the wee early hours of Mothers’ Day, watching over him, waiting to hear deep, even breaths replace the ragged, raspy ones from earlier I can’t help but think of Sheila and Kate, two moms whose blogs I read/follow, who have known much greater anguish than what I have gone through tonight. I don’t know them personally, face to face, but I know their stories. I send love and strength out through the universe to both of them.

It’s Mothers’ Day. BoyGenius gets up at about 7:30am. He tells me he’s fine, heads downstairs and lets me sleep. Life is good. I am thankful. Again. And again.

Donna Day … wanna help?

Last year around this time a few of my bloggity friends gathered from far and wide for an event that was being held in Chicago. I Want a Dumpster Baby, From the Bungalow, Pinwheels and Poppies, The Monster in Your Closet, Mary Tyler Mom … they were all there. Trade show, bloggers convention? Nope. A St. Baldrick’s event. “What’s that?” you ask. ”Some religious gathering?” Nope. A shave. A fundraiser. An event. This particular one was being held in Chicago, put together by Donna’s Good Things in memory of and to

Donna’s Good Things event is being held at the Candlelite in Chicago

honour Donna Quirke Hornik, to raise much needed money to fund research in the hopes that one day children won’t have to fight cancer. I couldn’t attend but I was there in spirit and I did donate some cash. Donna was an amazing little girl and you can read her story here. It’s not my story to tell so I won’t do that, but it is my story to share and it is up to all of us to do the same. If you know of anyone who has fought cancer then you know how horrible it is … if you know of any child who has had to fight cancer then you know how much worse that is. If you haven’t got a clue (and even if you do), then please read Donna’s story,  her family’s story, her mother’s story. It ain’t pretty … but it’s beautiful.

So, Mary Tyler Mom (Donna’s mother) asked some people to blog today, Donna Day, about this year’s event. You can find out more about it and make a donation here (in case you didn’t see that last link). I wasn’t actually specifically asked, but you know, I didn’t need to be. Research into pediatric cancer is a big deal. It needs to be funded. We need to do this; we can make a difference. Sure, it takes scientists and money and stuff .. but we’ve got those things. Donate.

Thanks to the wonders of the internet, you don’t actually have to attend an event in order to make a donation. You don’t even have to be in the same state, province or country. You can donate to Donna’s event just by clicking through. Also thanks to this here internet, you can check to see if there might be any events in your area, if you would be more comfortable donating to or attending something like that. And by doing just that, checking for local events, I came across this little gem: a group of Tau Kappa Epsilon students from UOIT is holding an event on March 8th, 2013 at the Campus Ice Centre in Oshawa, Ontario. These young men are standing together to try to keep cancer from bullying more and more children. How can you help? Donate! You can click through and pick a certain participant to support or you can donate to the event. These guys are hoping to raise $1500 to help fund childhood cancer research. That’s not too much. I’m sure we can push them over the top. St. Baldrick’s partners with Childhood Cancer Canada Foundation so if you’re a Canuck and want your funds to go towards a Canadian organization, not to worry, they will.

Honestly, I’m not too concerned as to which St. Baldrick’s event you donate to, I just want to get you to donate. St. Baldrick’s is a good organization and like I said above, research into pediatric cancer is a big deal.

Please help.

yep, death sucks

My cousin died last night. She had been fighting cancer for 7 years.

We weren’t close, either in proximity or in familial feelings. Matter of fact, I probably hadn’t seen her in over 40 years. It doesn’t matter. She’s still my cousin. She was family. She suffered. She has a son. He suffered; still is suffering, as are her mother, her sister, her niece. Cancer sucks.

You know, sometimes when we lose someone suddenly, tragically, accidentally, we say “at least if they were ill we would have had a chance to say goodbye.” Saying goodbye ain’t always all it’s cracked up to be. My cousin was in the hospital for the last week, had been in and out of the hospital a number of times over the last 6 months at least, had been suffering through chemo for endless periods before that. I don’t think her prognosis had been anywhere near ‘good’ for at least the last 2 years. That’s way too much time to say goodbye.

My dad died suddenly, and that sucked. Sudden isn’t great. My brother died with time for us to say goodbye, but I don’t think I ever really did. He knew I would miss him, he knew I loved him, he knew I didn’t want to say goodbye. So he tugged on my sleeve to make sure I stayed that night he drew his last breath. That sucked, too.

Losing someone you love hurts. Whether it’s sudden or tragic or you’re forewarned doesn’t change that. The fact that my cousin is finally at peace and without pain is a good thing, but the fact that she died … well, it sucks.

Hug the people you love.

a new year

So here we are, 201213. I’ll get it right eventually. We always do, don’t we?

We had a fairly long holiday season, with a couple of teacher strike days, my mother visiting for three weeks, BoyGenius having 2 weeks off, Christmas and New Year’s celebrations, my brother SkinnyGuy and his girlfriend staying a couple of days, a little bit of  snow, some rain, some fierce winds, a turkey, a toasty warm fireplace and fluctuating temperatures. (Okay, so it probably seemed longer than it was, but still.) We only had one emotional breakdown (me), and it was small. We had four laptops, one desktop, one Wii, various DSes and one (sometimes two) iPads all accessing the internet at the same time. We are way over our usage limit and that reminds me, I need to change that plan. Soon.

I haven’t been here much, writing or even reading. I just haven’t really felt like it. A couple of times I’ve even felt like it would be such a chore to sit down and write something. I hate that. I’ve written and discussed *a lot* of things in my head, they just haven’t traveled down my arms to paper or keyboard. I’ll get it right eventually. Santa brought me some new coloured-ink pens and some new Sharpies! I just bought a new pencil case yesterday so I can keep them out of the reach of others. A friend gifted me with a fancy new writing implement and a gorgeous blank book, with the request that I “keep writing.” But you know what happens with a gorgeous new blank book.

Notebook for writing
Too lovely to use, though; new
Thank you anyway

I have had occasion to scribble a few Haiku here and there in my old, more portable notebook. And lists of songs I want to put on my next compilation CD(s). And grocery lists. And “to do” lists. A few things have even been crossed off. Yes, because they were accomplished.

So, a new year. With the same bills to be paid, the same laundry to be done, the same dinner arguments to have and so on and so on. Don’t get me wrong, good things happened over the holiday season. And a new year comes with all sorts of new possibilities. But when you get right down to it, isn’t every day the start of a new year?

As Chantal says, “This year is going to be incredible….”

hopes and fears?

** Please note that I have many conversations with myself and do much writing in my head. Sometimes this leads to fractured thought and prose. This may be one of those times. **

 

After the last mass shooting that made the international news I thought to myself, “I’m not going to write about this, everyone else will be doing it and I don’t know that I have anything different to say.” And I didn’t. Write about it.

Yesterday afternoon, shortly before 3pm, when I heard about Newtown, CT, I thought to myself, “I can’t write about this.” This thought only occurred after my immediate reaction, which was a mish-mash of horror, nausea and resignation. Oh, and I was stunned for a bit. Then, while struggling to win the battle over the gnawing, spinning pain in by stomach I scrolled through a number of news stories and tried to keep myself from reading all of the comments people were posting (I’ll come back to this in a bit). Within minutes I realised it was time to go get BoyGenius from school.

A small knot of parents and grandparents were waiting by the doors, as we always do. There were a few comments, a small recounting of events for those who hadn’t yet heard and a collective shaking of heads. There were those who stated, as so many on facebook had, that all they wanted to do was hug their kids, go home, and hug their kids some more. I stayed away from all of that because that’s not the feeling I got. BoyGenius came bounding out the doors, we shared our signature greeting (him jumping into my arms and holding on for dear life while I spin him around until we’re both so dizzy we can barely stand), he told me there’s no school on Tuesday — 1 day teacher strike [a whole 'nother story] and then asked if he could go to the park. I said “sure” and zipped up his hoody for him before he ran off into the woods. I didn’t pull him any more tightly to me than I usually do, I didn’t hug him longer and I didn’t tell him I needed him to stay closer to me. I told him I love him and sent him off to the park, alone, to play with his friends. That’s what I felt like doing. (Well, that and throwing up … and the throwing up part is still present, almost 24 hours later.)

I don’t want to be afraid to send my son to school every morning. I don’t want to be afraid to take him to the mall to do some shopping. I don’t want to stop going to public gatherings in fear that some gun-wielding, grievance-carrying asshole will pick that day, that gathering to attend. So I’m not, and I won’t. HardWorker thinks of these things every day. I don’t. HardWorker has way more anxiety issues anyway, and things like this just feed her fears. Then again, so do television shows about bacteria on chicken or germs in hotel rooms. I won’t live in fear. I won’t have BoyGenius live in fear. Some of HardWorker’s fears have already rubbed off on him and I fight every day to keep him from absorbing any more. I don’t want my friends with small children, my friends with grown children, my friends with soon-to-be-arriving children to be crippled by fear of the world around us. I, like others I admire, choose to live in hope. I hope that the world will someday be a better place, that everyday it is indeed becoming a better place. I hope that we will stop hurting each other. I hope that we will cure disease. I hope that we will conquer famine. I hope for a lot of things. I choose hope over fear.

There is much talk when something like this happens; in comments on news stories, on facebook, on talk shows. There is much talk about gun control, as always happens at times like these. There is much talk about holding your children tightly. There is much talk about health care and mental illness. There is much talk about the US constitution and its amendments. There is much talk about how horrible that this should happen just before Christmas. People are saddened, devastated, shocked, stunned and horrified. Some are callous and self-serving. There is much talk.

Well I’m here to tell you that talk is cheap. Talk about gun control leads NOWHERE. You know why? Because the bigger picture in that discussion is one about power and lobbying and that picture is painted in very broad strokes with brushes made of thousand dollar bills; the details are the really important considerations and those details always get painted over. Talk about holding your children tightly is all well and good, but PLEASE don’t leave it until a tragedy happens to think about doing so. Talk about health care and mental illness needs to happen but again, those talks always become about politics and power and those money-brushes whitewash everything so not enough gets accomplished. Christmas — the season of love and light, goodwill towards men; does it really matter that this happened at this time of year? Would this horribly unnecessary tragedy be any easier to bear in May? Should we not be sad or shocked or horrified? No, I’m not saying that … what I’m saying is that more importantly that any of those things, we should be angry. Angry enough to take the necessary steps to ensure that this stops happening.

Gun control? Hell yes. You want the right to bear arms? Go right ahead. But be put on notice that every time something like this happens, every time there’s an armed robbery at the corner store, every time some gang shooting occurs, YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE. Societal ills? Hell yes. Sure, everyone should be held accountable for their own actions but it’s pretty hard to swallow that what you or I or the politicians do has absolutely no bearing on the person standing next to us. WE ARE ALL RESPONSIBLE FOR EACH OTHER.  Loving your kids? Of course. Love them, respect them, listen to them, teach them. KNOW THEM.

Whenever there is a mass shooting, particularly when school-aged children are involved, those who knew the perpetrator(s) have the same things to say. Either “he/she was a loner; he/she was bullied a lot; he/she always seemed to have problems or issues,” or “we never noticed anything wrong.” Both of these perspectives need to be examined. It’s like people are either saying “we always knew there was something wrong” (and nobody cared) or “we never cared enough to get to know” if things were really as good as they seemed. WE ARE ALL RESPONSIBLE FOR EACH OTHER. We need to accept that. Talking to someone might change their life. Smiling at someone may flip a switch in their head. A touch on a shoulder might let someone know that you actually see them standing next to you. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that bad things won’t still happen just because you smile at someone. I’m not naive enough to think that the whole world can be healed with a hug. But neither am I callous or cynical enough to think that human kindness, human touch, human-ness won’t make a difference, either.

Today, though. Today. It’s not about guns. It’s not about mental illness. It’s not about money or power. It’s not about your kids or my son. It’s about the families of Sandy Hook Elementary School. Parents that lost their children. Children that lost their parents. Students that lost their friends and teachers. Teachers that lost their students. It’s about a small town that will be forever changed. It’s about people whose lives have been turned upside down. Lives that may never be righted again. Let us hope collectively that they can all find peace.

Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light, the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight. May hope always wield the mightier sword.

 

Monday’s words – I

The year is drawing to a close much more rapidly than I would like ..  November’s almost over. I find it hard to believe how fast a year goes by. I’m almost getting used to the speed of indiviual weeks but months and years still leave me spun out trying to figure out how they passed with such great velocity. I think “oh I just wrote something the other day” and then realize it was a month ago. I think “I’ll get that typed up today” and then it’s time to head back to school to pick BoyGenius up for lunch or it’s already 3:20 and school’s almost done for the day … then it’s homework and dinner and laundry and bedtime and Coronation Street and all of a sudden it’s the next day already and Monday’s words aren’t getting out until Tuesday … or Wednesday … and my tea is getting cold … and it’s bed time again … and it’s been seven hours and fifteen days, since you took your love away …

But I digress. I words are funny. Many of them are “im-” or “in-” words and mean they’re NOT something or other. These are often confusing (I think so, anyway) as those suffixes sometimes mean ‘not’ or ‘non-’ something but not always. And when they do illustrate a negation, the “root” word is not always able to be used as a word with the opposite meaning of the ”in-” or “im-” word. Think about it … some more .. try it out on some words … again .. there you go. See?

i

Here are some of my favourite I words: impromptu, infidel, ilk, imbibe, infer, iota, intrepid, idiom and integrity.

impromptu ~ prompted by the occasion rather than being planned in advance. I think we’ve all experienced an impromptu night out with friends or an impromptu dinner party … some of us have been put on the spot and had to give an impromptu speech, maybe.  Sometimes these turn out to be the most fun and memorable occasions of all. And it’s a fun word to say, too.

infidel ~ a person who has no religious beliefs; an unbeliever, with respect to a particular religion, especially Christianity or Islam. It originates from Latin (surprised?) and its meaning in that language was disloyal or NOT (in-) faithful (-fidel). So can you be fidel? Not in English. In Spanish you can, especially in Cuba. In German to be fidel means to be in the best of moods, merry or jolly. Here you can only be an infidel.

ilk ~ type or kind — you know, people of THAT ilk. The first time I ever came across this word was on All My Children, way back in the 70s. It was uttered by none other than Erica Kane and I loved it from that moment on, endeavouring to use it whenever possible. It’s not a word that is easily voiced in everyday conversation. It’s one of the ‘cattiest’ words I know.

imbibe ~ to drink; to receive and absorb into the mind; to absorb or take in as if by drinking. I always feel better about imbibing a few libations than I do about downing a few drinks. And, if I’m with friends, I can imbibe information and ideas at the same time I’m imbibing red wine or Weissbier! How cool is that!!?!?

infer ~ to deduce or conclude (information) from evidence and reasoning rather than from explicit statements; to surmise; to lead to as a consequence or conclusion. [Infer is often confused with imply. Don't do it. If you are speaking or writing, you might imply something ... if you are listening or watching or reading, you might infer something.] “I inferred that those girls were making fun of me because they kept looking over at me and giggling.” The last little snippet of definition above means that if you see a finished Lego set at my house you infer that there must have been a Lego builder; if you see thick black smoke, you infer there is a fire.

iota ~ it’s the ninth letter of the Greek alphabet and when used as an English word it means a very small amount or a bit. I love it for the way it sounds, the way it looks and the way it’s spelled (which means that when you’re playing Scrabble or Words With Friends and you’ve got 7 effen vowels you might be able to find an open T and make a real live word!).

intrepid ~ resolutely courageous; fearless. I like this word. I like the idea of this word. “He was an intrepid explorer!” could be said about many a 3 or 4 year old checking out all the climbing equipment at the playground. I would like to be thought of as intrepid. I would like to live my life intrepidly. I enjoy the fact that this is an “in-” word whose root word can actually be used and does mean what it should: to be trepid is to be anxious or timid.

idiom/idiomatic ~ a speech form or an expression of a given language that is peculiar to itself grammatically or cannot be understood from the individual meanings of its elements; the specific grammatical, syntactic, and structural character of a given language; regional speech or dialect. If all of that just confused you, think of it this way: slang; common usage; the way a native speaker of a given language speaks; phrases we use that don’t actually mean what the individual words would have you believe (eg.: the lights are on but nobody’s home; to come into your own; as dumb as a sack of hammers). Idioms are fun and if you can speak a language at least somewhat idiomatically you will get much more out of foreign travels than if you are pulling sentences out of a phrase book.

integrity ~ I think when we hear this word we often jump right to the meaning that points at adherance to a strict moral or ethical code. I like ”the state of being unimpaired; soundness and the quality or condition of being whole or undivided; completeness” just as well, if not even better. I like to hear talk about preserving the integrity of an old building, maintaining the integrity of a plan or idea.

So there you have it. I haven’t forgotten you, dear readers. I haven’t given up. I haven’t stopped thinking. I’m still here. Hope you are as well.

tonight

Tonight I miss my brother.

Today was a day like many others. Finally got (mostly) rid of a two day headache that had managed to turn itself into a migraine in the middle of last evening. Got up at a reasonable hour, showered and dressed, got BoyGenius up, fed and dressed. We ran to school, made it just in time as the bell went.

I came back home, threw some laundry in, watched a movie and nursed my still aching head. Soon enough it was time to pick the Boy up for lunch. I drove over, offering to take him out but he wanted to just come home. So we did. Then back to school.

In the afternoon I did a bit more laundry, cleaned up most of the back garden and some of the stuff out of the lawn that had escaped the garden. After that I watched this week’s episode of Grey’s Anatomy and had a tea. In the blink of an eye it was time to pick BoyGenius up again.

It being Friday, we just had time for … wait for it … some laundry (!) and a snack, BoyGenius had some computer time and I watched this week’s Glee. Quick dinner and then back to the school gym for the Friday Night Fun Club. Left the Boy there and went to my bff’s for a quick visit with her and a couple of other friends. Some wine, some snacks, a few games of mancala and some fun chat. Two hours and it’s time to pick the kids up again.

Walked home in the rain with BoyGenius; HardWorker was home waiting for us. Changed into pyjamas, called my mom and traded stories of what the last two days were like for both of us.

By the end of that conversation I was crying. No warning. No real reason; don’t know what sparked it. All I know is that it was an overwhelming feeling of missing my brother. I miss my brother.

Tonight I miss my brother.

birthdays

How special are birthdays to you? How long do your celebrations last? The thought of birthdays has been on my mind lately since so many of my friends and family have October birthdays. Best month of the year!

I like to celebrate for about a week. It’s only fair, sometimes my birthday falls in the middle of the week. Hard to go for dinner and drinks on a school night. I like the idea of getting together with friends and having a night out. Other than that, I don’t make too big a deal. Except for the fact that it’s my birthday. And it goes on for at least a week.

I told my mother last week not to worry that she hadn’t posted her card for me yet. That it didn’t matter if it got here on time. She begged to differ. She says it’s one of the most special days there is; after all, it’s the day she had her only daughter. From a parental point of view I get it. I understand what she’s saying. I feel the same way about BoyGenius’ birthday. He deserves to know that his birthday, the day he was born, was the best day of my life.

When it comes to my own birthday I don’t care so much. It’s no big deal. HardWorker and I decided a long time ago that we wouldn’t buy each other gifts because a) we usually buy ourselves what we want when we want it and 2) we don’t really know for sure what we would get because a) … and so on and so on. My brother SkinnyGuy used to bring me a cake at work. My brother BlueEyes used to be away a lot (flight attendant) but he would make a big deal when he came back: snacks from Japan, wine & chocolate from Germany, sweaters from Peru. My mom and dad would mail cookies to the office. That’s right. I was special. I am special.

feel the love!

So anyway, tomorrow is my birthday. I’ll be another year older but that’s a good thing (just think of the alternative!). I’ve got things I hope to accomplish in my new year. Some of them will need to be addressed this month still/already. I won’t feel any older, I don’t know if I’ll feel any wiser; but I will be glad I’m here, able to share another year with my son, my partner, my mother, my brother, my cousins and their children and grandchildren, my childhood friends, my work friends, my new friends, all their children, my online friends & their children, and all the friends I have yet to meet; allowed to enjoy the sights and sounds of the world around me; gifted with the privilege of feeling the love and joy that I have to offer bubble up inside me and vibrate out to the universe.

conversations?

Conversations in my head
Discussing things we’ve never said

Do you have conversations in your head? Are they conversations with yourself? Mine aren’t. Not usually anyway. They are actual conversations with other, real, people. People that I never seem to find the time to actually talk to. Sometimes they are rehashing snippets of conversations we have had, or started and didn’t finish. Sometimes I like them, sometimes I don’t. I get to say the things I want to say, without worrying about time constraints or little ears listening in from around the corner. The other half of the discussion doesn’t always go as I would hope. Truly. I don’t have them just say the things I want to hear. Well, okay, sometimes I do, but sometimes I am my own worst enemy playing devil’s advocate.

My biggest problem with conversations in my head is that when I actually see the person I’ve been “talking” to I can’t remember if we’ve already discussed something or not. It drives me nuts .. more nuts than I already am. The conversations in my head aren’t helpful and are a huge waste of time. Sometimes I write in my head as well. And that doesn’t work out either. Not really. There are always things that pop into my head and I know I should write it down or type it out because when I try to do it later I won’t remember what it was or exactly how I worded it. But the problem with that, of course, is that I’d be jotting stuff down all day and be getting nowhere at all with my list of chores.

How do people with children, with families, ever get to have real conversations with other people? It’s not the idle chit-chat at the grocery store or in the drive-thru. I don’t mean about what to make for dinner or how many bags of yard waste you gathered and put to the curb on the weekend. I mean a real, heart-to-heart, “these are my hopes and dreams” conversation. The kind of thing you have a best friend (or maybe a spouse) for. If  you can’t even find the time, let alone the right time, to talk to the one person that you can talk to about this stuff — then what?

Conversations in my head
Discussing things we’ve never said

a day of giving thanks?

We are celebrating Thanksgiving this weekend. We are giving thanks. Is this something that we should only do one day out of the year? No, certainly not. Do we understand this, as a people? I think we are getting closer. Many of my favourite bloggers regularly express their gratitude or thankfulness .. and also allow others to do the same. Just ask Deb at The Monster in Your Closet or Kitkatkootie at I Want a Dumpster Baby. I believe we will all get there, given time.

Every day I am thankful for family and friends. I am thankful for my homes (current and childhood). I am thankful for my education, I am thankful for my abilities and I am thankful for the gratuitous gifts that have been bestowed upon me.

As I type this I find that I keep hitting a wrong key and am often typing “thinkful” instead of “thankful.” I keep going back and correcting it but after about 5 times in a row I realized that I actually am thinkful and not just thankful. As long as I keep being thinkful about all of these things it will be easier to remember to be thankful for them.

I am thankful for my beautiful BoyGenius and when I am thinkful about him and just how long a process it was to get him I give much more thought to the role my parents played in the whole thing. They were behind me wholeheartedly and spent tens of thousands hard-earned dollars. Enablers? Facilitators? Loving parents. Thank you.

I am thankful for my Hardworker and if I took more time to be thinkful about what she has given and continues to give us daily I would probably be even more thankful. I would at least be more expressive in my thanks. I’ll work on that. Thank you.

I am thankful for the fact that we have a bounty of food for our table and a table (or two) of family and friends to share it with. I am thinkful of this quite often … I hit the grocery store at least twice a week and while there is much to choose from I am limited in my purchases to foods that my family will actually eat. I am lucky to have friends who like to eat things that I like to eat but can’t cook at home because I am the only one who will enjoy it. I can make and share with that other household and I also benefit from their own, bolder kitchen choices. For this I am thankful. I know that there are many places on earth where there aren’t even grocery stores let alone 10 varieties of apples or 8 brands of pasta to decide on; this gives me pause and much to be thankful for. I am. Thankful.

I am thankful for online friends who write beautifully and give me much to be thinkful about. They also make me smile and laugh and cry and for all of these things I am thankful. Thank you ladies and gentlemen of my interworldly blogospheric community.

I could write for hours on this topic. How about you? Do you give much thought to being thankful?