Author: Sarah

The Bubba Guy

/ Sarah / 1 Comment

The Big Guy has left me.

He says he’ll be back in two days.

Damn training.

What a perfect time to share a Big Guy story! That’ll teach em….

When I met The Big Guy he was 6’2+ and about 175 lbs. Pretty lean. By the time we got married, he was 185 lbs. Still very trim. I won’t tell you how much I weighed when we got married, but suffice it to say, I exploded after the birth of two kids. I never had to diet before, so being in my mid 20s and learning how to control my diet was a big deal. His weight never changed, which was frustrating as I tackled losing baby weight times two.

The Big Guy was very supportive. NOT. It wasn’t that he didn’t want me to lose weight, he just didn’t understand the concept. Because I didn’t feel I should deprive the household, I would still bake and have treats in the house. I just wouldn’t have any. And then I’d have to fend off The Big Guy, who would constantly offer to cut me a piece of cake, pie or square and then feign surprise when I stated that I “couldn’t” eat it.

Such support….

He still doesn’t understand why I don’t partake in dessert following each meal and why there are still two unopened boxes of chocolates on the counter from Christmas.

Uh, mainly because I DON’T want to staring down 200 lbs again!!??

So I was less than sympathetic when he came home with news the other day. He’d just come home from a physical with our new doctor, for which he was LONG overdue.

“Did you know they weigh you every time you go in for an appointment?” he asked.

“Yup,” I replied, thinking that I was pretty sure I’d mentioned this to him already.

“Well the nurse told me I was 192.7 lbs!” he exclaimed. “CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?”

<PAUSE> In fairness, I had noticed The Big Guy was a little Big-ger, but it certainly wasn’t a bad thing. We had argued at Christmas that he was not a Large but an Extra Large, and I was listening when he was telling me that his pants were fitting tighter. His new job has him tied to a desk or his truck most of the time. Then there is the whole age vs. metabolism debate. Did I think it was a problem? Nope. Would I have told him if I thought it was? Jury is still out on that…. <PLAY>

So the weight conversation lasted a while, with The Big Guy fearing this was the top of the slippery slope that sees him ending up as the Human Pear; a tall man with a gut out front and long thin legs. As I choose my words carefully, I offer a couple of suggestions.

“We’ll walk together at least once a week!” I offer.

“Can you believe that? 192.7 LBS!” he replies.

“Maybe you’ll have to start watching what you eat.” I suggest.

“I’ve never been 192.7 lbs in my entire life!” he exclaims.

“You know, we’re talking about seven pounds,” I point out.

“I KNOW! SEVEN POUNDS!” he nearly faints.

I remove myself from the conversation for two reasons. One, because he obviously needs to come to terms with this unmitigated shock he’s just experienced.

And two, because he can’t possible get his head around the fact that what he’s gained is less weight than either of his sons that I gave birth to.

What He Said…

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After a particularly exasperating exchange with Second Born Son, I exclaim in frustration,

Me: “LORD help ME!”

SBS: “I think he’s busy with someone else right now!”

TBG

We are watching First Bon Son’s hockey team. He’s the goalie, and it’s been a particularly busy night for him. Second Born Son’s only interest in the game is the fact that his brother is playing. He spends most of the time biting his tongue as we watch FBS stop second and third rebounds while teammates stand back in admiration.

One of mothers on our team is sharing her personal opinion of the official’s call, or rather lack there of. The word she uses rhymes with luck, truck, duck and schmuck.

SBS: Really…was that necessary? (Shakes head in disgust.) ADULTS!

TBG

SBS: “We played The Game of Life at school today. I love that game.”

Me: “Oh ya?”

SBS: “Ya, I saved all this money, because I didn’t get married, didn’t have any kids and I lived in a house trailer.”

Me: “Oh – that sounds kind of lonely.”

SBS: “It was AWESOME! I had the most money!!!”

A Conversation with Myself

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It was an innocent enough question.

“Uh, so what is your age now?” she asked. A light little voice with a Romanian accent.

“I’m 40,” I reply.

“Ah,” she breathes. Now I’m worried. She ever so delicately asks me what skin products I use and what my routine is. She then asks me if I have any products for Mature Skin. I have dry, sensitive skin which is the BEST skin EVER if you want to age prematurely. All I need is a heaping helping of leathery skin from OD’ing on sunbathing and it’s the perfect storm of old lady skin. She’s giving me advice, every so kindly, about taking care of myself; making sure I have the right products; the proper routine and regimen.

Here we go….

I’m laying in the dark with lovely, relaxing Nature Music playing. Little Sister has started the two-part process of covering the greys. My head is now turbaned and I’m getting a variety of lotions and potions applied to my skin. One feels like water, the next feels like Jell-O before it sets. I get a mask and a neck and shoulder massage before my little European friend leaves me alone in the dark while the mask seals on to my skin.

Vanity is not a tolerated characteristic in my family. Look good, yes. “Maintain” yourself? Who do you think you are? My big indulgence is the dye job (sorry Little Sister – “colouring”) but my nails aren’t always done. I give my own manicures and pedicures, mostly in the summer time when they are exposed. LS and I have talked about me going grey, since that’s what my hair has had in mind since I was 19. So I’m starting to think, why fight fate?

But as I lay in the dark I start a conversation….with myself.

“This feels SO good! I really need to do this more often!”

“Really?? You have the time to come down here and get all pampered and primped for most of a day once a month!?”

“But I think it’s good for me! This is the most relaxed I’ve been in a long time!”

“That’s great, but where are your priorities?”

“Well I try to take care of everyone else, why can’t I take a break for me too?”

“Really?! Sounds rather self-indulgent!”

“If a doctor told me I had to take something for my body’s health, I’d do it. What’s so different about my skin?”

“Vanity.”

“I’m NOT being vain!”

“Sure sounds like it!”

You get the idea. I focus on the babbling brook running through down through the speakers and into my head. So much better than my inner voice.

In my truck on the way home – with a jar of moisturizer beside me, the second chapter of the conversation begins. But it includes the information given to me by my new little friend – the magician who makes me look fresher, if not slightly puffy from spending two hours flat on my back in the middle of the afternoon.

“I’m going to do this! I’m going to start taking care of myself.”

“Of COURSE you are.”

“Well, you know what? She told me it’s easier to start taking care of myself now, than it is in 10 years when things REALLY start to slide.”

“Next you are going to be shooting crap into your face.”

“NO that’s GROSS!”

“Well then you’ll end up with surgery.”

“I don’t want plastic surgery!!”

“Ah! You want a nose job!”

“Well that’s different – it’s a genetic thing!! It’s a brutal nose.”

“And your eyes?”

“Well I’m convinced I’m going to wake up one day and won’t be able to open my eyes – and I can thank my father for that too!!! Freakin’ droopy eyelids! You know WHAT?? I don’t want to CHANGE myself, I just want to TAKE CARE of myself.”

“Sounds like justification to me….”

At this point I turn up the radio and sing, because honestly, how does one end an argument with one’s self?

One books next month’s appointment…..

Valentine’s Day in Three Parts….

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It’s only two days after Valentine’s Day, and the Easter swag is on the shelves, but I’m still reflecting on the events of two days ago….

111

I’ve been watching the commercials that start in rotation every January 2nd. The message is the same. If you have someone special in your life, you’d better do something for them on February 14th.

Or risk not having someone on February 15th.

I will admit, when I was young and naive, I bought into this commercialism. I’m not sounding very romantic right now, but if you stand back and set aside the Pink coloured glasses, you will see that there is nothing romantic about being forced to show how you feel about someone. Even the most emotionally emotive man gets a heavy dose of insecurity in the days leading up to Valentine’s Day. The bar is set high. Anything less will result in disappointment and frustration, not to mention reliving the moment for years after – if you are “fortunate” enough to stay with your loved one.

What is romantic about that??

I remember dating The Big Guy and he brought me a Valentine’s Day arrangement. A teddy bear clutching a plastic vase with fresh cut flowers. I was thrilled – such an obvious gesture of love and affection! Totally cute at the time and it impressed several of my friends, because we know it’s all about the brag factor. Wouldn’t thank you for it now. I love the idea of the unexpected. What is romantic is not what happens on one day, but the connection, the listening you do, on all the other days, that makes that one day memorable. And it doesn’t have to be V-day.

*A special note for you guys – you DON’T have to buy a piece of jewelry to get her attention. <Cue the Crickets>

I’m serious here girls! What would you rather have? A piece of jewelry that you basically TOLD him to buy for you, or a night in with your man, your favourite movie in hand because he LISTENED to you when you said you desperately wanted to see it. He also has your favourite snacks!! One is forced, one is genuine. When it comes to relationships, I prefer the latter.

That’s not to say I will turn away a hinged furry box! But let’s put it in context….

I won’t forget my 12th wedding anniversary because I received my sapphire and diamond ring from The Big Guy. Not on our 10th or 15th…. Completely unexpected – and I LOVED IT.

Surprise is romantic. The unexpected, is romantic. Pressure, expectation, entitlement…..

No so much.

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Second Born Son has taken an interest in baking lately. We made kick-ass peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. Not long after, we made cupcakes for a friend’s birthday.

Look at that technique!

In the fashion of all agonizing childhood milestones, Valentine’s Day rolled around for him in his classroom.

At his age, not too many kids are keen on demonstrating affection, so it’s an awkward situation. I’ve told SBS that if wants to take a Valentine to one person, he needs to give one out for each person in his class. Fortunately, he agrees.

But this year, when his peers were marking a day for love and affection, one little shit student was changing the rules.

He handed out his store-bought cupcakes to only a handful of students. SBS was not one of them. To add insult to injury, he walked past SBS’s desk and said, “Jealous??”

To which my son, my little sweetie – who had given this child a Valentine AND a box of Smarties, just like everyone else, came back with this gem.

“No. I can MAKE my own, any time I want them.”

Freakin’ brilliant.

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It has been documented how our sons feel about our anniversary. Maybe because The Big Guy and I don’t gush over these holidays, we don’t expect much from the boys.

It was mentioned at one point that they had “something” for us, but honestly, with the chaos these past couple of days, I didn’t give it a lot of thought. I have a collection of sweet Valentine cards from my little men, and was looking forward to seeing what they put together this year.

But first, I had something else to attend to.

Made with Love - Half the Calories - ahahahahahahahahah

I always believe the motto “A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” So these little dreams were sinful!

It looks like The Big Guy had the same idea!

Poetry! Wow!

But for some reason, he thought I was going to share…THIS?!

Uh...YUM

I was ready to mow through dinner, just to get to dessert, but the boys has other ideas. Watch us get our minds blown!

Awwwww!

It was a Valentine’s Day card with a dinner card inside. They plotted and planned with FBS slipping downtown on his lunch to pick up the cards. Who knew they were so thoughtful!

And that, my friends, is the definition of a loving Valentine’s Day.

True love is the soul’s recognition of its counterpart in another.

~ Wedding Crashers

If….Then…..

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For the most part, we are blessed with good kids. But every now and then, one of them will pull a boner.

This time it was First Born Son’s turn. Nothing epic, but certainly worth several well thought out words in an elevated tone to drive home how frustrated and disappointed we are. In a day or so, it will all blow over, but for now, there needs to be a line drawn and some consequences.

This has been our approach since we became parents, and fortunately, The Big Guy and I have been on the same page, without really having a discussion about it. I remember while we were dating (long before talk of marriage or children), trying to enjoy a meal at a restaurant while a young upwardly mobile couple tolerated, and indeed coddled their young child. Certainly old enough to know how to behave in a restaurant, it was fairly obvious that we were witnessing a case of the Tail Wagging the Dog. Whining, food thrown and indulgence. Understandable when the child is 2, more than annoying when the kid is 5. We looked at each other and basically said the same thing to each other, “If we have kids, we are NOT letting them get away with crap like THAT!”

One of the worst things I see is when parents use threats or ultimatums. These could also be considered boundaries. Nothing wrong with setting terms, the problem is when the child knows the threat is hollow. We have made a point of not doing this, and it has served us well. Its all about the follow through.

I remember when FBS was just a wee guy. We were at a friend’s house and he was enjoying the pool. I was done for the day and back in my dry clothes (fear not, he had enough safety and flotation devices on him, not to mention I was ALWAYS within arm’s reach). Anyway, I asked him nicely to come out of the pool to dry off; it was time to go home. He refused. I told him he had to the Count of Three (another favourite tactic) to get out of the pool, or I was coming in for him.

One beat after I said “Three” he started to laugh – there was no way Mommy was going to get in, she was in her clothes. I stepped right into the pool, sandals, shorts, tee and all, and hauled his scrawny wet tush out of that pool. From that day forward, he knew. There were consequences and not listening to Momma was not advised.

Years later, I coached his ball team. During a practice we were working on stealing home. I advised the base runner, who was a little meek, that he needed a more substantial lead off. Three pitches later, he’s still take two steps. I need him to take at least four. I tell him, “If you don’t get more of a jump out there, I’m going to make you wish you had.” He looks over at FBS who is the third baseman for this exercise. FBS just shakes his head and says, “She’ll do it man.”

Ironically, the runner had an excellent jump and  was able to get to Home Plate with ease.

I took exception to title the Day Care teachers gave me; Hitler Mom, but that’s only because of the choice of villain, not because of the context. I don’t drop the hammer all the time. The Big Guy isn’t irrational. We save consequences for serious transgressions. Laptops and tablets, iPods and TV privileges have been revoked because of serious breaches of behaviour.

Which is why I identify, and respect the position of this father…..

Dad uses Facebook

Naturally, there are people who feel he is the worst example as a parent.

I feel I’m in pretty good company.

Good Genes – AKA Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder

/ Sarah / 3 Comments

I don’t tend to get hung up on “beauty”.

For starters, the concept is subjective – thank God. While you may think blonde hair and blue eyes is the definition of beauty, someone else may go for red heads with piercing green eyes.

My grandmother was considered a beauty. She had raven black hair, flawless skin and amazing bone structure. She did dabble in modelling. We have photos of her wearing early 1950s wedding dresses, with outstanding workmanship since young brides could finally feel good about wearing a big white dress post-war. What she learned during her time as a fashion model stayed with her entire life; never look directly into the camera, never stand straight on, and never, ever leave your arms hanging down by your sides.

When I started my love affair with photography, Gramma would look at my images and even those that weren’t top-notch were deemed perfection by her. She would analyze the light, angle and emotion in the photograph and announce, “This isn’t portrait, this is a STUDY.”

This was the highest form of compliment one could hope to get. Gramma would say not everyone could be a model. There was a certain quality one needed to have; an attitude if you will, that came from an artful soul. All the foot posing and gazing into the horizon couldn’t make someone photogenic. It had to come from within.

Fast forward several decades to this past Monday. Little Sister owns and operates an environmentally responsible hair salon and spa. She wanted to promote the business and her stylists by holding a portfolio day. Five hours later we had shot six models with numerous styles. One of those models was my niece, M&M.

The irony here is that M&M was the poster girl for Tomboys growing up. She identified with animals, dogs in particular, and was the first one to dive into a snowdrift when it came time to play outside. Sign her up if you need a ball player, or want to go for a hike. But makeup? Hairspray? GLITTER??

LS wanted a highly stylized look for her models. I wasn’t sure M&M was going to buy into the idea, after all, there was a lot of primping going on.

But once I got her to myself, something happened.

and again….

Gramma would be proud….

A Tale of Two Paths

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In the work that I do now, I get to witness people at some of their lowest points. The biggest observation I’ve made is my internal response to these experiences.

I have found these intense events fall under two categories: people who have bad things happen to them; and people who bring about bad things to happen to them.

There are people, who at this very moment, are finding out a loved one has died, that their house has burned down, that their car has been broken into and stolen. These people woke up this morning and had no clue what their day would end up like. They figured it would be another Thursday in a lifetime of Thursdays. And at breakfast, it was just another Thursday.

But by dinner tonight, not so much.

Then there are the other people. This group is not blind sided by the events of their day. They are aware of what their reality is, because they helped build it. They have spent their lifetime of Thursdays exposing themselves to people and events that are not healthy for them. They have made choices every day that have helped them get to the chaos they exist in.

They stay with their husband/wife when they should probably leave; especially when he/she has beaten them, again. They sneak out a window when their parents have forbidden them to leave the house, to meet someone who does not have their best intentions at heart. They have one more drink, one more joint, more, more, more. And finally, they sit up and question how they got to where they are now. What did they do to deserve this? In a word – nothing. But they are the authors of their own horror story. What they don’t realize is that they have laid every brick in the wall. They could choose a different way. It’s one step at a time, but it might as well be a 10 foot stair.

My heart bleeds for the people who get a phone call and find out their world is upside down. I want to reach out to them.

For the person who is angry at the world and doesn’t understand why their 18-year-old daughter is a drug addict when she’s been getting high every weekend since her children were born…

Well, I guess I’ll just have to work on that level of compassion.

Top 10 Things You Should Never Say to Someone with Cancer

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As you now know, my father was diagnosed with Cancer earlier this year. Over these past 8 months, it has been a battle that too many people have become familiar with. My mother-in-law lost her fight the day after Dad’s surgery and within the past three years we’ve also lost an uncle and a cousin.

Suffice it to say, we have A LOT of experience on what is helpful and what is not when it comes to support. I consider it my service to humanity to offer the following:

10 THINGS YOU SHOULD NEVER SAY TO SOMEONE WITH CANCER, OR THEIR FAMILY

1. “Don’t do the surgery. They’ll open you up and it will spread!” – I’m pretty sure that’s not how Cancer spreads, and your paranoia will only incite further paranoia. How is that helpful?

2. “There’s no point in doing the Chemo/Radiation/treatment.” I’d love to see your credentials in the medical field, or anything other than hearsay, because, again, putting the Fear of God in someone who is already stressed, isn’t really a great idea. The suggestion is that treatment is in vain, that the Cancer will return anyway. How is this productive? Millions of people beat Cancer every year. Don’t you want this person to be one of those people?

3. “Have you heard of the Broccoli/Sunshine/Herbal treatment?” You know what, just see Number 2…..

4. “My mother/father/uncle/aunt/son/daughter/dog/mailman had that kind of Cancer and two weeks after they saw the doctor, they were gone.” What exactly are you trying to accomplish with a terrifying statement like that? Cancer isn’t scary enough, you need to worry them that they have less time than they think they do?? I mean, come on.

5. “Jane Doe is suffering from Cancer.” My issue with this is the word “suffering“. When you are told to be strong, fight, find the courage and stay positive, the word “suffering” is one of the most damaging words you could utter. Try, “Jane Doe has been diagnosed with Cancer.” or  even, “Jane Doe is battling Cancer.” So much more empowering, don’t you think?

6. “You look so GOOD!” I have yet to see someone battling Cancer who actually looks “good”. If anything, you make the individual self conscious and the internal conversation is something like this….

“Dear God, they think I look good when I look like THIS? I looked good when I had my hair, my eye lashes, my appetite, 40lbs more. I look like shit and now I feel even WORSE.”

7. “Oh my, you don’t look so good today!” It’s better to say nothing at all than to make a statement about personal appearance. This is someone who is walking through Hell for their life – are they supposed to have a “good” day? I mean, really…..

8. “Oh you poor dear!” This gem is usually reserved for family members – and when its the kids, the hair stands up on the back of my neck. Try “I bet you are a great help for your Poppa!” or “I will keep all of you in my thoughts and prayers.” Conveys the same intent without the implication of hollow sympathy.

9. “What can I do to help?” I bet you don’t see the issue with this one, do ya? The problem is that the person you are asking this of has a tornado of stress, drama and information swirling in their heads. They are grateful to remember to bathe, never mind make a To Do list. You are asking them to sort through their upside down life and come up with a custom list of tasks you would be suited to do. Why not say, “Can I help drive?” “May I drop off a casserole?” “Can I cut your grass?” These are specific tasks that the care giver or patient can look at and say “yes” or “no” rather than generate a task to assign you. Don’t be offended if they don’t agree to your suggestions. You have opened the door with a genuine offer, and in a still moment, when they have collected their thoughts, they may remember your kind offer. Then your phone may ring.

10. “You better get checked out!” While this comment is likely to be well intended, it’s usually unnecessary and if anything, causes more anxiety. When my mother-in-law was ailing, the last thing her sons needed was to be reminded that they might face the same fate. Don’t get me wrong, they were more than aware that the Cancers she battled can be passed genetically, but they didn’t need that stress adding to the concern they already had for her, and their father.

In conclusion, while many people think they are showing concern and empathy by asking these questions, it’s a case of the void between what is being said, and what is being heard. Remember that the best way to show your interest and support is to ask simple, short questions, void of overt emotion. Perhaps you’ll catch them in a moment where they will want to share their thoughts and feelings. They aren’t looking for answers. They don’t expect you to have a solution. The fact is, their reality is overwhelming in that moment, and they need to release the backlog.

Be an ear. Not a mouth.

Letters that Need to be Written – Part I

/ Sarah / 1 Comment

Dear 2011,

I thought this letter would be really hard to send you, but I think this is really going to be the best thing for the both of us.

We’re done.

We started a year ago with a lot of promise. I was hopefully for what you had in store for me and excited with what lay ahead. When January finally arrived and I was laid off my job, I was disappointed, but chose to take the high road and make lemonade out of lemons. The Big Guy was happy with his new job, and I figured, it was time for me to re-evaluated some things. Everyone around me was so supportive – “It’s just a matter of time,” they said, “You’ll be back to work before you know it.”

But I wasn’t.

I worked my butt off. No job. I stuck with you because it was early in our relationship. How bad could it be?

Silly me.

In February we found out The Farm was sold. A part of my heart died and my soul has ached ever since. We had two months to get used to the idea but with each passing day it was just more painful. Next my father was given scary news. The Big C had come to his little world and surgery was needed.

Easter came and we received more bad news – The Big Guy’s mom was very ill and it wasn’t going to get better. The following week we said our first good bye to The Farm. The next week, my father went under the knife. Four hours later, he was conscious and as sarcastic as ever, and I went home to pass out after the stress of  the day. Within three days, my sons buried their granny.

In the summer, Samson failed and we were faced with the incredibly difficult choice of letting him go. At this point there was so much snot and tears that I started getting the feeling that you and I might not be the best fit.

I gave you some slack when we found Roman. There was a glimmer of hope there. I was willing to give you another chance.

I was so distracted with freelancing and looking for work that the weeks flew by. We found ourselves wrapping up our long goodbye to The Farm. The pain of this was eased somewhat by the fact that I now had a freakin’ job. While the training for the new position had me questioning my sanity, intelligence level and the ulterior motive of my new employer, I was successful.

I was ready to be positive, honestly, I was, but for some reason it was too hard. My Dad, who appeared to be doing well over the summer, started to fail. It was getting very scary and by October, he was in emerg almost as much as he was at home. I knew I had it with you when November rolled around. The scare we had with him was profound and life altering. We nearly lost him. I decided I couldn’t find a glimmer of hope in our relationship, 2011. You and I needed to take a break.

I know you were trying to extend an olive branch to me last week, when doctors gave  Dad the news that he was Cancer free. However, he is far from healthy and we are doing everything we can to get him stronger.

I will look back on the afternoons under the trees with family and friends. I will cherish the warm weather we had while I worked outside. I would have liked a day or two at the beach, but I think I’m going to try that next year.

That’s right. I’ve found someone new. I’m excited about the opportunities that are presenting themselves again. I’ve learned a lot in the time you and I spent together. I will not ask myself “How much worse can it get?” because the answer is chilling. I will take it one day at a time. I look forward to feeling positive again. The next 12 months have made no promises to me, and I’m okay with that.

So, I hope you can let me go and allow me to move one. In time I’m sure I’ll recall more fond memories, but for now, I need time.

And his name is 2012.

Sarah

Yes, That Conversation Just Happened

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Context: Cute girl working at the cash at the grocery store who is big enough to fit in my purse.

Me: She’s such a cutie, but so tiny. I know, she’s a fetus!

First Born Son: Fetus?! What’s that?

Second Born Son: Duh – it’s a little car!

Me: That’s a FIAT.