How Do You Say Goodbye?

It has been a long time since I posted. I didn't know what to write, where to start. I had so many things going on inside me, yet I felt empty. I feel empty. My daughter is gone.

My sons are gone too, but in their case I can be big about it and hope that they have a super summer with their dad. And pray that he lets them come back home. Last time he didn't, but it took a long time for him to get this second chance, so for the boys' sake I hope he returns them to me. I will be on pins and needles until I get them back on August 28th. I miss them, but I have to believe that they will come home to me. 

My daughter is a different matter altogether. I miss her too, but even more because I know she won't be coming home at the end of the summer. She has made her decision. She is going to stay and go to school in Hungary. She is going to live with her dad. She doesn't want to live with me. How did we ever reach this point? How could this happen?

My baby girl and I used to be thick as thieves. Mommy and Daughter. The Girls. We did everything together and we had fun doing it. How could I lose her after all that? The only answer I can come up with is that I lost. I was the weaker one. The loser. My husband is strong. He used every trick in the book. Parental alienation. He turned her against me. I lost.

Sometimes I think I should have fought back more. But what more could I do? I told her I loved her. I kissed her goodnight. I showed her I loved her. I showed her I wanted to do things with her. Did that not disprove all the nasty things Dad said about me? I guess not. At the airport, she didn't even want to give me a kiss good-bye. Not even a hug. She was like a horse with blinders on. Looking forward. We were at JFK but she was already in Hungary, living with Dad. What kind of a mother doesn't even get a good-bye from her child when they won't see each other again for a year? What kind of a mother doesn't get a single tear, a single "I"ll miss you?"

Needless to say, I haven't been very joyful now that I am alone. Not at all. Too busy sitting on the couch and staring into space, I haven't done a heck of a lot. But yesterday I left the apartment for the first time. And today I sat down to blog.

I have come to the realization that there was nothing I would have done differently. I wish to God I hadn't lost my daughter, but I wasn't going to stoop to her father's level to fight for her. That is why I lost. I am reminded of something a german theologian (his name escapes me just now) wrote: "God doesn't preserve us from all hardship, but he preserves us in all hardship." What I am going through now, what I have been going through the last few months and indeed the last two years, certainly qualifies as hardship. When my mother found out the kids are going to see their father again, she got angry at me for not telling them about him. About all the things that he has said and done. About the kind of person he really is. She said she would tell them. We had to fight fire with fire. But I wouldn't let her. As I said before, I wasn't going to stoop to his level. He may not understand what it does to a child when you badmouth their mother to them, but I do. This is all I have in my defense. I stayed true to myself. True to my values. I fought hate with love. I lost, but I didn't cave. I know who I am and who I want to be. I only wish my daughter saw it too.

Hello Again

For the second time in a row, I got a "Hello" today when I dropped my daughter off at school. The first time was Friday. (Yesterday was a planning day, so no school.) Today, another "Hello" as she got out. How long will this lucky streak last? (There are eight more days of school before vacation. Dare I hope?...)

My Daughter said "Hello" (!!!)

Hello All,

My apologies for my prolonged absence. Things have been so bad and stressful and difficult, I just didn't feel I should come online and be the Voice of Doom. Things have been HARD.

This morning, though, a ray of sunshine through the clouds: for the first time EVER, my daughter replied to my "Have a nice day" with something other than the slamming of the passenger side car door: she said "Hello." (In Hungarian, hello is used as a general greeting. You say it when you come up to people, but also when you take leave of them.)

I have no doubt that this was a consequence of yesterday's meeting with our social worker. It was a pretty heavy meeting, with a lot of hard things said. Basically, it was an hour and a half of bawling. I had a migraine headache for hours afterwards and my eyes hurt for the rest of the day, until I finally went to bed and sleep restored them to their almost-normal state.

I think yesterday my daughter finally got a sense of what marriage to her dad had been like for me. Without badmouthing him (that's against my values!) I finally made her understand that I didn't leave him on a whim: I had my very legitimate reasons. So today I finally got an acknowledgment to my "Have a nice day." It's a big step.

Some of the stuff that came out in yesterday's meeting has me so outraged that I feel like I might explode, but I won't dwell on that now. Today's post shall remain a happy one. This morning was a small victory. A Small Miracle. :o)

Moment of Truth

My free yoga classes are all used up. I can't afford to pay for yoga classes. I only earn them by doing a seva (volunteering). I won't get any more unless I am called in if one of the sevas cancels.

That means I have to start doing yoga on my own at home, to be responsible for my own practice.

For the past few weeks, I have been very good about doing yoga at least once a week, usually I even got to the yoga centre twice in a week.

Can I keep it up on my own? We shall see and time will tell. My intention is there...

Wish me luck!

Standing The Test of Time

My dad came to visit us this weekend from New Jersey. We had a nice visit and my dad told me something that made me think about how everything seems to have become much more disposable than it was in the past.

My dad was wearing a forest-green tee shirt on Sunday and he mentioned that he had bought it in the GDR (the German Democratic Republic) a few years before we moved to Canada. I was really amazed. We came to Canada in 1983. That tee shirt is over 30 years old! It doesn't show it a bit. It could be any shirt that one can buy in a department store. Or could it? Would your Zellers, Walmart or even your Sears purchase last that long? I highly doubt it. Things just aren't made to last any more.

This morning as I gave First Son his breakfast of Alpha Bits and milk, I took a good look at the spoon in my hand before I gave it to him. To the untrained eye, it would just look like any unassuming children's spoon. But I know that this spoon was my brother's when he was little. My mother saved it and gave it to me when I had children. The spoon is about 40 years old!

In my kitchen cupboard, I still have a red plastic sippy cup that my grandmother gave me for my children. They have outgrown it, but I am hanging on to it. It used to be my mom's, so it is over 50 years old.

To me, these things are pretty amazing, but it also makes me a bit melancholic. So many objects, like my son's spoon, are a part of our simple daily lives, yet they hold the stories of generations. I wonder if future generations will appreciate their simple endurance of time. They are like the stories our elders tell us, bits and pieces of the past.

I think that it is important to talk about my parents and grandparents to my children, as well as about my own childhood, but it saddens me in a way that they will never truly know how it was for us. Sometimes, on a cool summer morning like we had this morning, the freshness in the air reminds me of fresh cool mornings when I was in grade two. I remember arriving at school, looking forward to the day. Everything was cool and fresh, but there was excitement in the air because the end of the school year was only three or four weeks away. I wonder if my kids feel the same way about this morning.

First Son has taken to writing "novels" on the computer. (They are each a page or two long. lol) This morning he was typing after breakfast and he asked me if there were cars and airplanes in 1987. This made me laugh, but it also made me realize he knew nothing about what life was like when I was a child. I mean, he knows I came to Canada in 1983 on an airplane and he knows we had a car when I was little, but he can't put two and two together and see that that was my time, the time when I was a child. It's weird. Maybe it's just his age. He is only eight, after all.

I do talk to my children a lot about the past, for example when I tell my son that his uncle ate with the same spoon when he was little. I truly hope the values that are intended with comments like that will sink in, along with a little piece of myself and who am I. What we hold in our hearts is all that is left to us of the past.

The Book That Apparated

A few years ago, a little bit before Easter, I was just about to leave (I don't remember where I was going) when I noticed a book on the bench in my front hall. It was a simple green paperback with the title Pâques c'est quoi? (What is Easter?) I assumed it was from a friend of mine and put it away for later reading.

I did actually read it later and found it very interesting. It talked about the ransom, which I had never understood. I had been told before that Jesus died for our sins, and that by doing so he saved us all, but I never understood what that meant. How did that work? My first source of information about this had been my grandmother, but her explanation didn't satisfy me. She only repeated what I had already heard. For her, it was a matter of faith and she accepted it. But I didn't understand it.

This little gem of a book explained the ransom in terms that I could understand. It explained how the Israelites sacrificed lambs, goats, pigeons (etc.) to God to absolve them of their sins. The sacrificial animal had to be perfect, strong and healthy. By sacrificing the animal, the sins were taken away. In a similar way, Jesus was a sacrificial lamb. He was a perfect man, without sin. What made his sacrifice even more special was that he was God's son and God sent him to Earth with this precise purpose, that he may be sacrificed and save humankind. Jesus gave himself willingly, knowing that this was his Father's will.

After having read Pâques c'est quoi? I wanted to thank my friend for having left me the book. That's when things got a little weird. He said he hadn't left it for me! (Even though he had visited either the day of or the day before I found it in my front hall.) I trust him and I know he didn't play a trick on me. He even said that if he had left me a book, he would have left a better one. He thought that this one was too simplistic. (I may have been miffed at that comment, but I didn't mind as long as I liked the book and it helped me understand the ransom better. Maybe a more complex book would have left me just as lost and confused as before.)

Still, the question remains: where did the book come from? My friend came up with a theory, but I'm not sure I buy it, so I don't know what to think.

This all happened the year of the big OC Transpo bus strike in Ottawa. That winter, I had a friend who lived across the river but worked here in Hull. I worked in Ottawa but the strike didn't affect me because I had a parking spot and took my car to work. In the evening, I would drive home and either pick my friend up at her office or she would take the Quebec bus to my house and wait there, then I would drive her home. I didn't want her to be waiting out in the cold, so I left the side door unlocked so she could let herself in. As it was winter and very cold, I usually left the door unlocked, not wanting her to wait outside. I didn't have anything of valuable in the house, nothing that might be stolen, so I was comfortable doing this.

The theory is that I must have left the front door unlocked when I walked the dog and that I wasn't home when someone came to the door. Perhaps the door opened a bit when they knocked and they entered and perhaps called out to see if anyone was home. When no one answered, my friend thinks the person left the book on the bench and went away. This doesn't make much sense to me because if I ever left a door unlocked, it was the side door, not the front one. But the book was in my front hall.

There will never be any way of knowing. Was it someone at the door? Did the book magically apparate from somewhere? Was there divine intervention? All I know is that I must have been meant to read this book, because it was perfect for helping me to understand. Any simpler, and it may have just repeated the same things I had heard before, like a children's Bible might. Any more complex, I may have still been left in the dark. It was perfect for me, and that's all that counts. :o)

Holy Smokes! I'm Marilla Cuthbert!

I don't know wether to feel angry or relived, but mostly I feel ashamed.

Remember the Nintendo 3DS consoles the boys got from their grandparents? Remember how I posted that they took them to school without my permission and had them stolen? Remember how only First Son even fessed up to it? Remember how Anne of Green Gables confessed to having taken Marilla's broach and dropped it into the water, and how she only confessed so that Marilla would let her go to the picnic?

Need I go on?

I am going to go on. Not because I'm particularly proud of myself, but so that you, Dear Reader, will know that I always write the truth on here. I am not out to make myself look like some superhuman supermom. I won't hide the bad stuff.

The kids and I have been cleaning house and purging like crazy lately, tossing some things in the recycling and putting others aside for the garage sale next weekend. We have been digging right down to the bottoms of the closets, reaching to the darkest back ends of all our drawers. In our front hall closet - way in back and off to the side where it's hard to get at from the ridiculously small closet door opening -  was our old recycling box, the little green one that we used before the big blue bins were distributed by the city. There were a whole bunch of things in there, from my winter boots to outside toys like old badminton rackets and hai-lai bats... and First Son's black Nintendo 3DS, complete with its orange Diego protective sleeve! Ho-ly Smokes! This after he confessed to having lost it at school!

I am not ignoring the fact that Second Son's Nintendo had also been thought to be lost. That one being blue, I found a replacement on kijiji and bought it, only to later find the original at home. We ended up selling the replacement for the same price as we had bought it for. Ironically, I just found a black one to replace the one First Son lost, and I had already set up a pick-up time to go get it. Needless to say, I cancelled that.

I asked First Son why he had said that his had been stolen at school, and in the teeniest, tiniest voice imaginable, he said, "I didn't know what else to say when you kept asking where it was." Have you ever felt like a bad parent? Well, I know how it feels.

I felt so bad for First Son. I feel like I pressured him into confessing. I had to apologize to him big time.

---------------------------

So ends the weird tale of two Nintendo 3DS consoles that were received, lost, replaced, unlost, almost replaced again, and found. Again.

Lesson learned? Yep. No more jumping through hoops to try to right all wrongs. The Nintendos were lost. I should have left well enough alone. We found them both in the end. They were here in the apartment all along. I could have saved myself a ton of trouble.

Volunteering

Yesterday's post has got me thinking about volunteering. I have always wanted to volunteer. It is a part of my value system to want to give. There are so many ways to volunteer, you just have to have time to give and you could choose almost anything.

My first such experience was in high school, when I started to volunteer at Long Lake Animal Hospital in Tampa, FL. At the time, I still harbored dreams of becoming a veterinarian, so this was the perfect opportunity to gain some valuable knowledge and experience. I had a super time. At first, I just followed the veterinarian, Dr. Hong, around as he performed his daily duties. My first actual contribution was to disinfect the exam table after each client. Quickly, I assumed the role of receptionist, going out to greet clients as they arrived and telling them it wouldn't be long and wouldn't they take a seat? I liked to do this. It went well with my smiling personality and I was happy to be useful, since Dr. Hong didn't have to interrupt his work whenever the bell announced someone at the door. When there was an especially busy Saturday, I would spend my time between the reception and the back room where I gave flea baths to cats, dogs and even to Baby the ferret. :o) Eventually, I learned to take stool samples and to check blood samples for parasites with the microscope.

In the end, I never did become a veterinarian because when I got to university, I realized that Physics and Chemistry at that level were not for me, not to mention Organic Chemistry! Since I liked both children and animals, I decided to become a teacher instead. Still, my experience at Long Lake Animal hospital taught me a very good work ethic. I learned to be punctual, professional, courteous and hard-working, all of which have stayed with me ever since.

When I got married and my husband, who moved to Canada from Hungary, needed to learn English so he could find a job, I looked into some volunteering opportunities for him. I thought that helping the Meals on Wheels program would be great for him. He likes history and I thought it would be interesting for him to meet and talk with elderly people. I was in for a big surprise. My husband was shocked that I would consider asking him to volunteer. He wasn't going to do any free work for anybody. The idea made him angry and he was really indignant that he wasn't going to do anything for free. He didn't even consider the benefit of being surrounded by English-speakers and how that would help him. He was too proud to volunteer and he wouldn't let me either. When I thought of something that I would like to do, he told me to ask to be paid for it, otherwise not to waste my time on it. 

'Nuff said about that.

When I left my husband in 2007, volunteering was still on my mind and a part of my values, but as a mother raising three children alone, I didn't have any time to give. Eventually, though, starting in 2008, my husband and I shared custody of the kids and that left me with every second week with nothing much to do at home. I wasn't used to being all alone. So what happened was that I started listening to my old cd's and tapes again. (Mostly cd's - I made the switch from lp's and tapes to cd's at that time - a leap ahead for me, technologically! lol When most people were already on to mp3's...) Next thing I knew, I became aware of more and more of my favorite bands touring and coming to the National Capital Region. I didn't really have money to be going to concerts left and right, despite the fact that I had a lot of time, and eventually it dawned on me that if I volunteered, I might get to see some of my favorite bands perform live for free. That is what lead me to volunteer for BluesFest.

I worked in the BluesFest Outdoor Blues Café in 2008 and 2009 and got to see all the shows for free between shifts. It was a pretty good experience, but I gave it up once I got the kids back after they spend a year in Hungary with their dad. Since then, I have been with them full-time and haven't had the time to give to BluesFest, but I'm not complaining. I'd much rather be with my kids, and BluesFest isn't the sort of festival where my kids can tag along with me on my volunteering shifts.

The Ottawa Folk Festival turned out to be a very good, family-oriented place for me to volunteer. I've been with them for three years now, this summer will be the fourth, and for the past two years the kids have come with me to the festival. I am really happy about this for several reasons: first, because they also get to benefit from hearing the shows. I'm not standing there alone singing along any more, my kids are by my side. It's great. Also, the kids know that I am volunteering (i.e. working for free), so this is a way for me to transmit my values to them. I am VERY happy about that. Thirdly, since the kids seem to enjoy the festival atmosphere and they also seem to think that the things I do as a volunteer are fun (I've been on the Visual Arts and EnviroDish crews), I hope that when they are old enough, they will choose to volunteer as well. That would be a proud day for me. (Like the day we all participated in the City of Gatineau's Spring Cleaning Event.)

In the meantime, I will continue to volunteer and to let the kids know about it. If nothing else, I will be a good role model for them. (Although I truly can't say "if nothing else", since I have reaped so many benefits from volunteering!)

Seva

It's been a while since I posted because it is taking me some time to recover from the long weekend. We went camping on the Bonnechere River and there was a lot of laundry to do and of course I had to sardine all the camping equipment back into the hall closet - no small feat! Then I was called in to do a seva yesterday afternoon, so time really flew by and I haven't had a chance to come write anything since we got home on Monday night.

Seva is the word used at PranaShanti to designate volunteers and volunteer work. I think it's the Sikh word for service, but don't quote me on that. In actuality, at PranaShanti, it is not so much volunteering as an Energy Exchange. For every hour I give of my time, I get an hour of yoga for free. It's a sweet deal. :o)

I used to be a regular seva at PranaShanti until I had to stop due to health reasons. Now that I am feeling stronger, I have let them know that I wanted to try to start again, but on an occasional basis. They can call me if someone cancels, but I can't commit to going once a week just yet. I don't know how I will be able to handle it, so I'm starting out slowly.

I had two reasons for starting to seva again. One is that I have been feeling down about myself, basically not liking myself very well, and I realized that I haven't given much lately, although I am constantly thinking about how to receive (take) and often I worry about what is being taken. My energy, my patience, (my youth!)... It is often a case of something being taken that, if I were in better emotional shape, I would gladly give. Doing seva duty seems like a positive thing that I can give, and since it's physical work, I am encouraged that, if nothing else, at least I am moving. I can consider it exercise.

The second reason for returning to seva duty is the free yoga I earn. For the past several weeks, I have done at least one yoga class a week, but often two or even three. These are free classes I earned in the past, but I am worried about what will happen when they expire. I can't afford to pay for classes, and I am afraid that I will give up the yoga instead of continuing to practice at home. So really it is not for completely unselfish reasons that I have decided to volunteer, but what is important is that some good comes out of it. I do feel good about helping the yoga center because it is such a great place, like a safe haven. You really do relax when you step through the doors. Volunteering also gives me peace of mind, prolonging the yoga classes that I can attend for free.

Finding My Religious Roots

So far, I have shared how I started down the spiritual path. It is a long road that I have traveled on for many years. Yet, I still feel that the journey is only beginning.

A few years ago I was listening to an interview on the radio that lead to a sort of epiphany. The interview was with a woman who had studied Native American culture and beliefs. She became very well-learned in their spiritual wisdom, and wanted to learn even more. After many years, an elder finally said to her, "You have learned much about our ancestors, but now it is time you learned about yours." This lead to her returning to Ireland to learn about her Celtic origins.

What the elder told the woman really hit home with me, and I understand that the message came at just the right time. I had already learned through my own exploration that all religions are valid. They all teach the same underlying truth, which is that life is love. Knowing this, the last piece of the puzzle that was missing for me is to put two and two together and realize that I have a heritage, a religious tradition, that I received as a gift from my family. (Mostly, here, I was thinking of my maternal grandmother because she was very devout and it was she more than anyone else who tried to share religion with me, and she did it in a loving, non-forceful way.) So, at that point, I went from thinking, "If I were to choose a religion, I would choose the Baha'i faith because I like everything I have learned about it," to thinking, "I don't have to choose a religion. I already have one."

While this realization was very clear to me, I still was not 100% sure about anything. I knew I had a lot to learn, and I didn't want to walk blindly into anything. Also, I was still hesitant because some of the things I have observed in the Catholic Church left me uneasy. (For example, the concept of Hell. If God rules over all things in all places, how can a place exist where He doesn't rule?) Not to mention that I had my own way of interpreting certain things and I was put off by the way scriptures seemed to be taken literally by many Catholics, whereas I looked for the hidden meaning, the message in them. I wanted to learn, to seek out other Catholics who might have the same views as I, like the professor I had had in university. I considered Bible study classes, but they were all at night, when I have to be home with the kids. I didn't really want to hire a babysitter and leave them with a stranger while I went on my way, so I dropped the idea.

Then, something unforeseen happened. (If I think about it, it wasn't that unexpected. I knew they were gonna come knocking sooner or later, but I didn't realize what my reaction would be.)

One Saturday morning two Jehovah's Witnesses came to my door. They asked if I had five minutes to talk with them and, since I was feeling generous and, I admit, a bit curious, I said yes, I did.

Speaking with those two people was very interesting. They read a passage from the Bible and we talked about it briefly. They left me a copy of their publication which, I admit, I forgot about and never read. After that, they came back every once in a while and we talked every time. Eventually, they left me a little booklet that took some aspects of the Bible and discussed them. Again, once they left, I hardly had time and I didn't really look at the book.

Time passed and eventually the one lady who always came, (she always had a different person accompanying her), asked if I would be interested in studying the book with her. I agreed to try, and she started coming once a week for us to study and talk, staying for about an hour each time.

Then, two things happened. First, I learned a lot about the Bible, and at first none of it seemed to contradict anything I had ever heard before. Second, at the same time as we were studying the booklet, I took the Catechism of the Catholic Church out of the library and started reading it. (Not the tiny booklet like the one my grandmother gave me. A huge volume of several hundred pages written by  Catholic Church staff that discussed everything in great detail.) In this way, as I read the two books in parallel, I discovered some similarities that made me feel good. If something is found in more than one source, I figure it gives it more authenticity. At the same time, I also discovered differences that, for the moment, I have decided to classify under Food for Thought.

The little booklet is called Qu'enseigne réellement la Bible? (What does the Bible really teach?) and looks like this:

Studying it finally gave me some of the background knowledge that I always felt I missed, not only from a religious point of view, but also from a scholarly one. Had I learned these things before, I would have had a much easier time in my high school English Lit class.

At the same time, I saw these same themes in the Catechism, (with some differences of course), and while reading that huge volume I was very pleased to see that some of what I had really liked while learning about the Bahai faith was also written in the Catechism, like how all religions are regarded as valid. Nowhere in the Catechism does it say that if you aren't Catholic, you will go to hell. Quite the opposite! This is a great source of joy and relief for me, but also sadness that some Catholics nevertheless believe that people of other religions won't get into Heaven. My own grandmother held this belief, and I don't doubt that she heard it from a priest. In fact, the Catechism says that although it may not agree with the beliefs of the churches who decided to separate from it, the Catholic church does not regard the people who are members of these other churches as sinners. There was a division, but God will bring all the good people into His kingdom. But getting back on subject, the reading that I did was very enlightening and useful. I never would have understood all this if I hadn't studied it with someone who was knowledgeable. I know this for a fact because I once read the New Testament cover-to-cover, but did not understand it at the level I do now, for having studied with my Jehovah's Witness friends.

While writing this post, I remembered many other things that I didn't mention, like the funny story of how Mormon missionaries came to our door one day, and about a book that appeared in my apartment quite mysteriously. I guess I skipped ahead to get caught up to where I am today on my journey. I will get back to those stories another week. For now, I really do think I have caught up to the present. I am still studying with the Jehovah's Witnesses, and at the same time reading Catholic literature to learn more. I would still like Bible study classes and work towards the rites I never had because I wasn't raised that way. (I was baptised, but never had my First Communion of my Confirmation.) I consider that I am still at the beginning of my journey, but whereas before I was wandering, I now feel that I am finally on the right track, following a path, to be continued...

That Certainly Hasn't Happened In A Long Time... And Neither Has That! (Tears and Goosebumps)

Two separate things I would like to share today. The first is not super-positive but still positive in a way, and the second is super-positive. 

Today, I went to yoga at lunch time for an hour-long practice. I was feeling pretty apprehensive since it was my favorite teacher teaching. (I know, that sounds backward, but it's true!) I told him so when I saw him outside the yoga studio and he asked me how I was. "Apprehensive." lol

Okay! Long story short, I made it through practice alive, although I did have to stand in mountain pose a few times while the others actually followed the teachers instructions. :p We did quite a few heart-opening poses and, although we didn't do the camel, which is usually my downfall, we did enough other stress-releasing poses that after the practice the dam broke and I started crying. This is not necessarily a bad thing. I used to do this all the time at the end of Greg's classes, but that was three years ago, when my troubles were tenfold what they are now. I am no longer agonizing about my kids, who at the time were kidnapped by their father. I am also feeling a lot safer than in 2009, when the police came looking for me to warn me that my husband was looking to have me killed. Understandably, I had a lot on my plate. Now, I still have a lot of stress factors, but nothing as bad as that. I mean, I have my three kids. The rest is just details, right? :o)

Actually, I feel really good now. The way I see it, I have let some of the stress out, so now I'm not so full of it any more. So I would like to recommend to everyone who is stressed to do some yoga, especially poses that open the abdominal area below the navel. People tend to keep stress in that area and it is good to stretch it and release the tension. The camel pose is a very good pose for that. Here's what it looks like:

If you can't lean on the soles of your feet, you can just put hour hands on your lower back. I find that actually helps the stretch because then I can push out on my abdomen from behind. Try it! :o)

The second thing that happened to me today was that I put some music on as I was working and I got goosebumps. lol It may not seem like a big thing to you guys, but when something moves me I get goosebumps. Be it a touching scene in a movie or the sound of an instrument or a certain lyric, I get goosebumps on my arms when I feel the... passion. (for want of a better word) So this afternoon I was open enough to let the good stuff in and I thoroughly enjoyed the music. (It was the Hawksley Workman song Ice Age. I am listening to the The Battle of 77 by the Sunparlour Players right now.)

It feels so good to let the music wash over me. I am happy. I wonder if I would have this reaction if I hadn't had my yoga practice earlier...

Alive Again

Like everything else in my life, my energy level goes up and down like a rollercoaster. Whereas with other things, like my mood, I can accept the ups and downs, I really do wish I could reach an equilibrium with the energy. It feels funny to be complaining about it now, when I am enjoying a nice burst of it, but when I think of how last week went, I don't want to go back there again. On Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday I basically dropped the kids at school and went right back to bed, exhausted, and slept for hours and hours. Hard to get anything done that way. I hardly even cooked. We mostly ate frozen meals and pasta.

This week seems to be going a bit better. I am very happy about that. When I have more energy, I feel like doing more things, like going to yoga and listening to music during the day, and playing endless rounds of gogos with Second Son and French braiding Daughter's hair when the kids are home. This week, we have made it down to the riverside after school almost every day. So, things are swell, and I hope this lasts.

I notice when I am tired, I don't do yoga, even though I know that in the end it would probably boost my energy. I also don't listen to my favorite music, preferring the silence and most preferably sleep. Of course, I know that doing these things might give me more energy, but it's hard to get up and put a CD on when the force of inertia is giving you its all to keep you from moving.

I think it's going to have to be a case of mind over matter. Knowing it will help, I will have to force myself to get up and do things, even when the fatigue returns. This isn't anything new. The thing that has to change is that whenever I get tired, I forget about taking care of myself and eating energizing foods - and by that I do NOT mean energy drinks! - and I usually just curl up and go to sleep. Maybe I should make a sign to hang by my bed. GET UP AND GO! lol I wonder if that would work. Maybe something like REMEMBER YOGA. Not in the sense of don't forget to go, but more along the lines of remember how good it makes you feel. The important thing is to have the fortitude to get up and get the wheel rolling until I can function again.

I'll try. I've go nothing to lose, and everything to gain.

Today, I do have everything. I have energy to function. I went to yoga practice, and although my upper arms were like jelly from Greg's class the day before yesterday, I managed to follow along and do everything except one little sun salutation wherein I came out of the downward dog for fear my arms would buckle. After yoga I ran some errands and got some work done. Now I get to listen to music. It's a Justin Rutledge day, I think. :o)

What To Do, What To Do...

Last summer Daughter got a laptop from her father for her birthday. A while ago, she dropped it and now it has to be repaired. The reparations aren't covered by Dell's one-year warranty. To fix the computer would cost almost $300. This is incredibly expensive and I really don't want to have to pay for it. I thought that an alternative might be to get another computer used and just switch the mother boards. Daughter isn't happy about this idea because she wants to keep her computer. The one her father gave her. She says she is even willing to pay for the repairs, but I don't want her to spend her money on this. I want her to keep it in the bank. What I would really like is for her dad to pay for the repairs, but I'm afraid to ask him. I'm sure he would point out all the money he has to spend on airfare and hotels whenever he visits the kids, and of course the fact that I see to their every need with no financial help whatsoever is irrelevant. 

So, I'm kind of at a loss as to what to do. I would really like to make a decision because until I do nothing is going to get done. It's a toss-up between saving money, or helping Daughter hang on to the birthday present she got from her father. In this instance, I don't think it is a question of being materialistic. I think it's really about the sentimental value Daughter attributes to her laptop. Still, I don't want to be the one to foot the bill.

Nothing's going to happen until I make a decision, but I seem to be able to do nothing but procrastinate over this one. Secretly I am hoping that the problem will just go away, but I know that won't happen. I guess eventually I will have to ask Daughter's father for the money, but I am afraid he won't pay and the worst thing is of course that he tells her everything, and I don't need him badmouthing me to her about how cheap I am. It is true that I don't particularly like computers and I'm not happy about all the time she spends online, but this is really about me being frugal and, after all, it is her father who gave her the computer. I wish he had gotten a better warranty to cover this kind of thing. Daughter is only 11 years old. She dropped her laptop. Didn't he foresee that something like this might happen?

For now, I seem to be a prisoner of inertia. Something's gonna have to happen to get me moving. I just don't know what.

My Favorite Yoga Teacher Is Back. Yahoo! :D

Granted, I have had a lot of "favorite" yoga teachers as I went through different things in life and a different teacher's class was best suited to each different phase, but this one guy is my all-time fave. His name is Greg and his classes have always been challenging. I was feeling downright scared of going to his class today, but I got through it no sweat - okay, I admit it, there was sweat! - and I feel so good now afterwards. I think this will make it just that much easier to try to keep my word and keep going to yoga at least once a week.

But that's not all! Another amazingly good thing happened to me this afternoon. Daughter finally brought her Mother's Day present home today and part of it was a scroll with a poem that she had written. I have to say it made me feel very, very happy. Her class had written poems last year also and when I told her that hers was nice, she said she had just taken a Hungarian Mother's Day poem she knew and translated it to French. That had made me feel sad because in essence she was saying that she didn't want to work on a present too hard if it was just for me. This year, on the other hand, although she ignored the fact that she is in French school and wrote in Hungarian, she made the poem up all by herself. And it's really super - and kind of funny: I think it is the first Mother's Day poem in history to mention earthworms! lol At first I was taken aback by that, but basically she just wrote that the sun is shining after the rain and there are worms in the puddles. Hey, it rhymes in Hungarian! :D

I'm The Bad Guy

My sons, like most of the boys at their school, like to play with gogos. (Don't click the link, it's not worth it.) Gogos are another fad game like pokemon where the kids can play, win and exchange. Needless to say, they are banned at school because the big kids take advantage of the little ones.

I knew that First Son wasn't allowed to take gogos to school because his second-grade teacher had forbidden it. He keeps complaining that it's not fair because some kids take them to school anyway, but knowing that they aren't allowed, I don't let him take his.

About two weeks ago, Second Son had enough pocket money to buy himself a new pack, and the pack he bought had a gogo bag in it to keep all his gogos in. Without my knowing it, he took it to school and of course the teacher took it away from him. She said he knew that it was forbidden and as punishment, he wouldn't get them back before the last day of school.

Second Son didn't think it was fair and he came home saying how he detested his teacher and how he didn't even know that gogos weren't allowed. (Yeah, right.) Well, he ended up crying over it big time, saying that he didn't know and that he didn't hear if the teacher said gogos weren't allowed at school. He especially lamented the fact that with the new bag, he had ALL of his gogos in one bag and he lost them all. I really felt for the little guy, but, even if he didn't know that gogos weren't allowed (which I highly doubt), then this is a lesson to him about listening, since the teacher surely said the rule that he may not have heard. Either way, I told him I wasn't going to ask for his gogos back. It wouldn't be fair because either he had disobeyed the rules, or he had not been listening in class. Either way, there was a consequence. He would have to wait until the end of the year.

Last Thursday, Second Son came home with is bag of gogos, saying that he had gotten them back. I was pretty surprised, but I thought maybe his teacher had returned the toys for good behavior.

Yesterday, I bumped into his teacher after I dropped the boys off and was walking home from their school. She said that he had stolen the gogos out of her desk on Thursday when she was absent and had been replaced by a substitute teacher. Holy Smokes! The little thief!

Needless to say, this upset me very much. This morning, I sent the gogos back to school and made sure that Second Son's kindergarden teacher received them. Hence, the title of this post. As far as Second Son is concerned, I'm the bad guy. Just one of the joys of being a mom. :/

Belated

The title of this post was supposed to be Mother's Day. In fact, the title WAS Mother's Day when I wrote it last night, but then it disappeared. Poof! Gone. Rather annoying. *sigh*

So here's take two because I think it's worth sharing and, before I forget, Happy (Belated) Mother's Day to all the mommies out there, especially mine! :o) Also, I don't feel too, too bad about posting this post one little day late, as I am well aware that in some countries, Mother's Day was not yesterday, but the Sunday before. (Some countries celebrate Mother's Day on the first Sunday in May.)

I was actually kind of lukewarm about Mother's Day this year. The fact that Daughter informed me that she had forgotten her gift to me at school, when we were already on our way home in the car, on Friday, did not bode well. I didn't dwell on it with her, but I did wonder if she didn't intentionally plan to be gift-wise unprepared for Sunday, considering the friction that exists in our relationship. I wondered, but I did not dwell, as I didn't want to be overly pessimistic. I just figured I'd get my gift on Monday instead of Sunday, and in the end all that does is stretch Mother's Day out just that much longer.

The boys were very excited about Mother's Day. They had both made a little something at school and wanted to give me my presents right away, so I had to explain that Mother's Day was on Sunday and that it would be proper to wait. They took it pretty well. lol Daughter was a different story. On Saturday, she had her cake decorating class, in which she learned to make fondant flowers. She made a whole bunch of tiny flowers and a beautiful, big gerbera daisy. I asked her if she would put them on the Mother's Day cake, and she agreed, though a bit begrudgingly. In the end, she said she didn't feel like baking a cake, so she kept her flowers and I felt pretty dejected. Sadly, I feel that this pretty much sums up our relationship. She wants nothing from me (except to let her go live with her dad) and she has nothing she wants to give me. No fondant flowers. No love.

Sunday morning, First Son disappeared with my sister for a mysterious secret surprise. While he was at her house, Second Son wanted to watch old Tom and Jerry videos on YouTube, so Daughter and I took advantage of our free time to start pricing some items for our upcoming garage sale. Daughter was in a good mood and pretty talkative, so I consider this my Mother's Day present from her.

When First Son came home, (with a lovely bouquet of flowers, I might add), we had lunch and then had his surprise for dessert: a big bowl of fruit salad with apples, pears, grapes, bananas, oranges and lots of lemon juice. It was delicious and healthy and I even had some this morning for breakfast. First Son had a great idea, making me this fruit salad. I love it.

After lunch, it was time for more presents. The boys each presented me with a card they had made. Second Son had even made and decorated the envelope for his. Then, First Son gave me more presents, the first of which made me laugh so hard. It was a Tweety Bird pin that he had asked me to buy him last year. He was re-gifting it! lol The second gift was even stranger, and I did laugh at it, but I may have been angry, had I been in a bad mood. Luckily, this wasn't the case.

The second gift I received from First Son was an old watch face without the watch band. When I asked him where it was from, he said, "I found it on the floor. At the cottage." LOL He meant our friends' cottage, where we had spent the weekend a few weeks ago. The little thief swiped it! :p I did have a good laugh at him, since he was so happy and so honestly, sincerely considered himself innocent of any wrongdoing whatsoever, but in the end I told him that we would have to give the watch back. Then, to placate me, although I really wasn't angry with him, just amused, First Son brought out my last presents: two Toblerone bars he had bought with his own money. I love chocolate, so this gift was very thoughtful, although in my head I was thinking I would have a word with my sister about letting First Son buy me chocolate, when she knew I had issues with my weight. Oh, well. The gifts were much appreciated.

After the gift-giving, we took off to McArthur Lanes to meet up with friends for some bowling. I tactfully took one of the Toblerones along to share with everyone. There was one more surprise waiting for me at the bowling alley: my brother's girlfriend gave me a Mother's Day card and a flower to plant in the front yard. It was so unexpected that I was very surprised, and the happy atmosphere, along with having my three kids there having fun bowling with me, finally made it sink in that it was Mother's Day. I think we all had a good time, although I found it hard to bowl because it was the first time I had played 10-pin with the bigger balls. 

So that was my Mother's Day, with its usual ups and downs, as with all parts of my life. I am still looking forward to picking Daughter up from school today to see what she made me, and I will ignore the fact that her teacher made her do it, and concentrate instead of the effort she put into it, knowing it is for me.

I will leave you with a little gift of my own, but, just like First Son, I am re-gifting this. It is actually the Mother's Day post from one of my favorite blogs, cakewrecks. I think Jen and John did a great job in on it: just the right balance of humor and sentimentality, all of it illustrated, of course, with cake. And since it's the Sunday Sweets edition, there are no cake wrecks, just beauties to illustrate what Jen and John are saying about mothers. Enjoy!

Nope, It Wasn't The Weather

After three gloomy, rainy days, the sun is shining gloriously in the National Capital Region today. Unfortunately, I am still walking around like a zombie.

When I walked the boys to school this morning, I was feeling hopeful that the sun would perk me up. Walking to school wasn't much of a strain, but after I dropped Daughter off, I again felt all my energy drain. It's not like I have a lot to do today, but it all seemed very time-consuming and it made me feel impatient.

I had to go to Lost Marbles because Second Son has a birthday party to go to tomorrow afternoon. I had a hard time resigning myself to the task. I was actually thinking of procrastinating and going tomorrow morning, but the idea of going to the toy store with three kids frightened me enough to go today instead. Luckily, I got my sister to accompany me, and she drove, so I got to just sit back and enjoy the view. I have to admit, the view is pretty awesome today. I have never noticed it before, but Hintonburg is full of lilac trees. And they are all in bloom today. The smell was intoxicating. After buying the birthday presents - a magic kit and a baking soda rocket, as per Second Son's request - my sister and I walked along Wellington for a while. She was looking for frames for her new glasses, and I was just happy that I was outside in the sunshine.

I have to admit, though, that the minute I sat back in the car, I was pooped. I almost dozed off before we reached my sister's house. There, I was VERY GOOD. Instead of coming home to nap (which is what I WILL do as soon as I post this), I stayed and we did a Qi Flow DVD together that my sis had borrowed from the Ottawa Library. (They're so lucky! They can borrow DVDs for free, whereas in Gatineau it costs us $2.) I'm not sure how I felt about the video. It started off nice and easy and it stayed pretty easy, which almost annoyed my because I thought as long as I am investing the time, I should at least get a workout. Oh, well... I'm glad I did it because I skipped yoga yesterday and was feeling really bad about it. I AM trying to do a regular practice, and I can't believe I almost didn't go this week, after having made the resolution to go back again weekly only a few weeks ago. This DVD did work my brain, as I was trying to follow along, so that's something. I'm trying to be optimistic.

On a bit of a sidenote, I just found out that my favorite yoga teacher that I have ever had is back at Prana Shanti, so I think that will definitely motivate me to keep to a regular practice. Although I'm scared of his classes. I am in much worse shape than when he taught me two years ago. Scared stiff, actually. But one is a 60-minute class as opposed to the regular 90-minute one. I think I will ease into things with that. My sister things it's a shame to use up one class on only 60 minutes instead of 90, but I disagree. Besides, my classes are still free for a while. I have credit-hours in exchange for having volunteered at the yoga studio last year.

Well, that's it today. I feel bad, when you are probably all at work, but I must go lie down. This sick leave business is no joke. Believe me, I am very impatient to be well enough to work full-time. I don't find myself being as productive as I should be with all the things that I could do at home. I keep forgetting that I am not at home to take care of everything like a whirlwind, but because I really can't keep up physical or mental activity for an extended period of time. I really do tire way too easily, both physically and mentally, not to even mention emotionally! At least I have made public my intention to go to yoga. Harder to back out once I've made it official. ;)

No Energy

I am wondering if it's my health or the weather, but I have absolutely no energy today. It's been like this for three days. I wish I could just go to bed. I am not being very productive anyway. Everything is a struggle.

It's pretty gloomy outside. And cold. Very conducive to snuggling down under the covers, but I have things to take care of. Unfortunately, the thing I have been best at lately was procrastination. It's getting to be a real problem. Like last night, when I picked Daughter up from school. We stopped at the grocery store to pick up some staples, and as we were pulling out of the parking lot I realized I had forgotten to buy bread. I was too tired to go back, but I said we would have to go to our local corner store to pick up a loaf. But when we got home, I just kept putting it off. I was so tired. In the end, I never went to buy any and this morning I ended up having to give the boys sandwiches made with hot dog buns for lunch. It's not the end of the world, but I wish my body would keep up with my brain. I just don't have the energy to do anything that is on my mental list.

Dishes are another problem. I have never minded doing the dishes as much as I do now. It seems there is an endless pile of dirty dishes by the sink nowadays. Much as I like to plunge my cold hands into the hot suds, I have a really hard time getting started, and my back usually hurts by the time I am done. I usually don't fully finish. I leave some things in the sink for next time. It is really discouraging.

I am definitely in an energy slump. If I were on a rollercoaster, my cart would be stuck down in a valley, not being able to climb up the first slope to begin the ride. That is how I feel. There has been no change for days, no matter how much pasta or spinach salad I ingest. I'm not writing this to complain. It's more to share the experience, unfortunate though it may be. If you are in a slump and have no energy, you are not alone. I'm with you.

Time To Plan

Well, I'm in. I got a nice fat envelope in the mail with a letter saying that I have been accepted to the Univeristy of Ottawa as a third-year student in their four-year bachelor's program in translation. What a relief! At the entrance exam, I wasn't sure how well I had done. Well enough, apparently!

This is a tremendous relief. Now I know that I can go to U of O, and I can let the Université du Québec know that I won't be attending their classes in the fall. But before even thinking about classes, there is lots to do, and the major hurdle in going to university will of course be the financial hurdle.

So, today's post is short, because I have to find and download the student loan application on the Goverment of Quebec's web site, and once that is filled out, I also have to start applying for various bursaries and scholarships. Wish me luck!

I am feeling energized and hopeful about the future. :o)

Boys Will Be Boys... ?!?!

Yesterday was a planning day at school. Being the well-prepared mother that I am, I had gotten the museum pass from our municipal library so we could go to the Canadian Museum of Science and Technology for free. (Our library has free passes to several museums - very handy for a low-income family. Very easy on the budget.)

Before we even made it to the museum, the boys were fighting in the back seat. Second Son had a pine cone and for some reason he saw fit to take bits of it and throw them at First Son. First Son responded with punches. I was understandably annoyed. First of all, because of the mess in the back seat. It looked like a squirrel had been left loose back there. (Actually, considering it was my two boys, I'm glad the upholstery is still intact!) But the most important reason for my annoyance was the fact that the boys just can't get along. I have to say, it really wears on the nerves, all this provocation and violence between them. Not to mention the added stress that I was driving while having to verbally manage the situation, which I did not do very efficiently. The boys knew there was nothing I could do while driving, and they ignored me.

I was definitely feeling the frustration of having disobedient children who don't listen. Honestly, I should have just turned around, brought them home and sent them to their room, but that wouldn't have been fair to Daughter. She was looking forward to the museum trip. She had gone with her class last Monday and had come home disappointed that none of her classmates had wanted to go see the part of the exhibit that was devoted to the Titanic. It would not have been fair to punish her for her brothers' misbehavior. Another reason for which I didn't turn around was that I knew that if we spent the day at home, the boys would be insufferable. They can't be shut up in an apartment all day. They need to move.

The other reason that I was feeling so frustrated was that I felt really alone in this situation. The boys have often resorted to physical fighting to settle their differences, and sometimes it seems like I just can't come up for air. They are always at it! I have mentioned this - let's be honest, I have complained about this! - to friends and acquaintances, and have been disappointed and equally frustrated with the answer: "They're boys." I hear that a lot nowadays, and it sounds to me as if society seems to be giving boys free reign to violence. Just because they're boys, I am supposed to expect them to be hitting each other all the time? Am I supposed to let them do this? Sorry, I don't buy it!

Some people have tried to pat me on the shoulder and tell me to wait until they are a little older, to tell me that they will grow out of it, but it seems to me that if I let this go on, they will only get worse. It shouldn't take maturity for a boy to be civil with his siblings. It should only take him being told once that violent behavior is unacceptable. I talk with the boys about this all the time. I reason, I beg, I lecture. Nothing has worked thus far. Why is it so easy and natural for them to settle things by reaching out and hitting one another? Where is their sense of empathy, their feeling that they shouldn't hurt one another because that hurts? I don't know. It's a complete mystery.

This is a really sore point with me because as a single mother, I constantly feel judged about how my children behave, which is a reflection to how I am raising them. As I am the main influence in their lives (if we disregard the fact that they do spend all day with their teachers), I am disappointed that they don't follow my way of behaving, that they haven't assumed my values. Sometimes I wonder if the more I exhibit my values, the more they will exhibit the opposite. If I treat them generously, will they turn out selfish? If I am patient with them, will they learn to take advantage of me? If I provide them with things out of love for them, will they grow up to feel entitled? I waited 23 years just to get pregnant, just to finally become a mother. I dreamt, daydreamed, babysat to practice, read books, researched, watched documentaries. In the end, I still end up feeling inadequate. Sometimes I despair that heredity has more to do with it than environment, and despite myself I see all their father's shortcomings in the children. Impatience, gruffness, superiority and a lack of empathy. Then of course I rebuke myself for trying to find a scapegoat, when it is I who am raising the kids. I do the best I can, devote my time to them, yet I end up disappointed in the outcome.

I refuse to accept that the boys are allowed to hit and fight just because they are boys. They have plenty of opportunities to channel their testosterone into positive outlets. They play outside every day, they are regularly enrolled in athletic activities, and I am constantly telling them that violence is not the answer. Still, sometimes even I have to admit that it seems that violence is ingrained in them. It is so spontaneous, it's scary.

Well, I am going to soldier on as I have, despite the disappointment and exasperation. I will continue to reason, beg and lecture. Hopefully, some of it will finally sink in some day.