Dreaming Big Dreams

As I sit here on my couch typing this, one child of mine is watching Japanese animation videos on a lap top in the kitchen, one child is pretending to do homework in her bedroom but is actually reading a novel on Cleopatra she nicked from my book case after I told her it wasn't appropriate reading for her age and another child is beating the crap out of my front load washer as it spins it way to cleaning skid-stained underwear.

In other words, life is fairly normal round these parts on a national holiday.

I'm a lucky woman, if by lucky one overlooks the fact her one of her children dropped dead suddenly in her arms four years ago.

Like everyone else, life hasn't turned out like I once planned it, sitting in a high school desk day dreaming while ignoring the page of quadratic equations staring up at me. Back then, I had big dreams of something, although I can't remember what those somethings were. I just know they never once included getting married to the boy my mother loved, the same boy who parted his hair in the middle and drove a wood-paneled station wagon that leaked gas and had a family of field mice living in the roof.

I never once thought I'd get married, let alone at the ripe age of 20, after having given birth to a daughter and expecting yet another child only four months after squeezing the first rabid badger out of my pink parts.

I never once thought I'd have any children biologically, and my brain never once expanded enough to allow for the possibility that I'd one day be raising a disabled child, bury that child and then willingly take on yet another special needs child.

Life is funny that way.

I don't regret any of the choices I made which have led me down the path I find myself on now. As I sit here and listen to the quiet sounds my children are making (and by quiet I'm not counting every time my youngest bangs his bony little feet against the metal of the wash machine and then laughs hysterically at the banging sound) and I wonder how I could never imagine being a mother or a wife.

Back when I was a teen, the only possible road to happiness in my mind was the road that traveled to a big bank account and success in whatever job I pursued.

Four years ago, I sat on this same couch, staring at the forest of leafless trees outside my window and I couldn't imagine ever feeling anything but pain and despair and grief ever again.

Time is a marvellous thing.

Yet here I am, on this road, a road filled with family and love and special needs and blogging and television and somehow, in 34 years I have managed to fill my life with more success and love than I would ever have thought possible.

Somehow, after the greatest tragedy a parent can face, my husband and I have managed to turn the pain of our loss into something new and wonderful and see our way into opening our hearts and home for a little boy who was born to bang on my overpriced home appliances with his boney little feet.

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of my Shale bug, or play the what-if game, or wonder what he would look like and be like had he lived to see this moment, but those moments are overwhelmed by the marvellous mouthiness of raising two healthy teens and chasing after a little boy who can't walk but can somehow manage to find his way to the dog's water dish to dump it on the floor and finger paint in it before I can stop him.

If I could go back in time to pull my teenaged self aside, I wouldn't go back to tell my younger self what mistakes to avoid or pitfalls to jump over. No, what I would want to tell myself so many years ago instead would be to simply imagine bigger, dream differently.

Because somehow all my dreams have come true and I never even knew I was dreaming them.

Would have been nice for a little heads up back then.

The month of November is National Adoption Month here in North America. A nice reminder to our family that our dream came true the day Jumby came home.

Yet another dream I never knew I had.

I am a lucky girl.

***Click here if you want to watch my latest television segment where I look chinless as I talk about adoption and our own personal path which led to Jumby's arrival.

My children after watching the segment told me I'm much prettier in person. And then they wondered why CBC doesn't hire someone better than me.

Ah. Children. Really, they are a dream come true.

I'll just keep repeating that so I don't forget.***

Dominatrix, Blow and Spinning. Google Pervs Delight

Ever feel the winds of change howl around you and shudder while you try and wrap yourself up with a cloak of denial?

No?

It's just me? Damn it.

I have never been one to embrace change with open arms. I'm more of a drag-me-kicking-and-screaming into a new situation type of gal. I am innately stubborn when it comes to accepting new things.

This trickles into all aspects of my life. I go to the same restaurants, order the same foods, read the same blogs, buy the same clothes (just in multiple colours) and enjoy the same routine daily.

I am a stalker's delight, really.

Yet, here I am, knowing that the house of cards I'm building, like the castles in the sand I love to craft, is tilting to the left much like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. One tectonic shift, one strong gust of wind, and everything I love will come crashing down around me.

I hate that feeling.

When I started blogging, years ago already, I never gave much thought to who would be reading me. I never really thought anyone would find this blog in the universe of the Internet; one small little blog in a sea of others. Yet, somehow I have managed to not only build up a readership (and if I could tongue kiss you all, I totally would) but land myself a job based in large part because of the scribbles I post here weekly.

When I started blogging, that long ago evening when I sat in the dark staring at the bright computer screen as my children peacefully slumbered on, my life was a world away from the reality I face today. I was stuck in a pit of grief, unable to see the light to shine myself out. I couldn't see past the end of my nose through the tears that poured out of my eyes to see clearly into the future, to anticipate just how this blog would impact my life and my family's life.

I just sat there, in the dark, and clung to the hope that somehow, this thing called blogging would bring me peace; allow me to heal. I was working on instinct alone.

My instincts were right, and over time and with many words poured out to be shared with the invisible community that rallied around to support me, life got better.

(I wish I could say the same for my grammar. Sadly, time and practice has only encouraged more run on sentences, spelling errors and misplaced commas than my English professors would like to see.)

Like my children, my blog is growing up.

(I myself, will never grow up. I will be that old chick down the street who still wears mini skirts and tube tops and tries to shake her wiggling arse booty to the beats of generations past. And I'll do it with big hair too, dammit.)

But since my kids are growing up, and my blog has expanded into twitter and facebook and now television, I'm wondering if it isn't time to take the next step in blog world and drop the pseudonyms I've saddled on my kids. Perhaps it's time to unveil them as the people they are and not the characters their blog nomickers make them into.

My children are indifferent. They still argue over which is Fric and which is Frac. The only thing they care about when it comes to this blog is that I don't write anything that will get them hog-tied and stuffed into a locker.

My husband is not so indifferent, but has softened on the stance since I went on the evening news and admitted my children like to toss knives around.

It's amazing really, that he lets me have access to the computer.

Does it make a difference, these pseudonyms? Does it provide my children with some invisible shield of security or am I just deluding myself into thinking that, what with all the other media I've done in the past?

Does it make a difference to the stories I share, whether I use their real names or their blog names?

Does anyone really care?

Am I the only one who keeps mixing up Fric and Frac?

What is your opinion? Sound off in the comment section. Should I bite the bullet and introduce more reality into my posts or do you prefer I keep things as they are?

Cuz I'm spinning in the wind here, unsure of which direction I should forge ahead with.

The floor is yours. Speak up. Because damn it, I need someone to tell me what to do.

Be my dominatrix for the day would ya?

*post edit: I have a different surname than my husband and children, so I'm not entirely sure that using their real first names will impact the Google when they grow up and apply for jobs. God willing, they apply for jobs. Because if they think they are going to sponge off the good will and fortune of their father and me, they aren't just delusional they are way optimistic and thereby not my offspring.*

Hello Mr.Computer Teacher!

My son stormed through the front door after school the other day, tossed his backpack down and as he kicked off his shoes he glared at me and announced, "I'm really mad at you, Mom."

I looked at him and quickly ran through any possibilities of why he would come home and suddenly announce he was angry with me in my head.

In the last 48 hours I had a.) eaten all of the chocolate bars in the Halloween stash after he specifically asked me not to b.) ignored the Do Not Enter MOM sign pinned on his door to plow through his private sanctum looking for hidden pieces of dirty laundry while taking time to snoop through his comic book collection for signs of girly magazines and c.) announced on national television he had a girlfriend.

Since none of that was unusual for any given day around here, I decided to roll the dice and face the angry beast snorting before me.

"Why? What did I do?"

"In computer class, I googled your name and found this!!" He screeched as he waved a crumpled piece of paper in front of my face.

My heart momentarily stopped when he said he googled my name because dammit, no good can EVER come from that misdeed, but it kick started long enough for me to grab the paper and examine it.

Staring back at me in the face was this:

And this:

I couldn't help myself. I started to laugh. "Dude! I'm sorry. It was a joke for a couple of blog posts I wrote last year. No big deal."

"NO BIG DEAL??" My lovely 12 year old son screeched. "You posed in a bikini on YOUR blog!"

I was about to blow it off but the steam pouring out the ears of my obviously upset child had me think twice about such a neglectful parenting maneuver, so instead I sat him down on the couch beside me and openly mocked him.

"Frac, you bonehead, that isn't ME."

"It is too! I'm not blind!"

"No, you ninny, it's my face, copy and pasted on two different bodies. A friend did it for me. It's not my body."

"Yes it is. Don't try to weasel out of this Mom. Do you know how embarrassing it was to google your name in computer class in front of my friends and then find these pictures? Like I want all my friends to see my mom like that! And the computer teacher!! He saw them too!!"

Ruh-roh.

"Um dude, why were you googling my name in computer class? Aren't you supposed to be doing something a little more educational with your time?" The best defence is always a good offence I find, when parenting teens.

In other words, deflect then deny. Words to live by my friends. Trust me.

Frac squirmed for about a nanosecond, looking guilty at having been caught wasting his time in class before his righteous anger flooded back and reminded him that I was the one in trouble, not him.

"I finished my assignment and I had some free time so I wanted to show my computer teacher what my mom looked like," my son huffed indignantly.

"Well, mission accomplished I suppose," I snorted with laughter.

"MOOOOM! That's not funny! It was embarrassing! You are in a BIKINI! On your BLOG!"

"Frac, look carefully at those pictures," I said as I pointed at the crumpled images on his lap. "Now, think back to how many times you have seen me naked or in my own bikini. One that doesn't have Canadian maple leaves on it. Now look back at those bodies in the picture. Those bodies aren't mine. My body does not look like either of those."

"Well, I guess. Your boobs are saggier."

Talk about a low blow delivered by my very own rabid badger. Ouch.

"Well, that wasn't exactly the point I was trying to make.."

"And your stomach isn't near as flat," Frac continued his scientific analysis of my body parts.

"Um Frac..."

"Plus, I can't decide if your thighs are as big as those or if yours are bigger."

"Okay Frac. I think you've got the idea now. No need to completely destroy every shred of my self esteem here."

"That's kinda how I felt too when those pictures popped up."

"Then don't google my name during class. In fact, let's make a new family rule that you don't google my name at all ever, under any circumstances and then every one's self esteem will remain intact. Deal?"

"Deal."

There is a lesson to be learned here.

Children should never have access to computers. Ever. Especially if their mothers have no shame and randomly paste photoshopped images of themselves on the internet.

Like these ones:





Oh ya baby. That's right. I'm rocking the Kate wig. And if you find these images Frac, keep your mouth shut. Or I'm totally going to wear that wig to your computer class and yell at your teacher for teaching you how to use search engines.

*Big thanks to Green In OC for taking the time to help me mortify my children once again, publicly. You rock.*