late night plays

a tale of bliss

I haven't been at this very long, but have honestly loved every moment of learning and growing that has come from this space of mine. And it's been made even better by the cheerleaders and readers I've met along the way.

Recently, I submitted one of my posts to a Canadian Family's Tales of Bliss call-out. I was thrilled (and surprised) to hear that my story had been shortlisted for the Reader's Choice contest. 

You see, this means so much to me. I tucked away my wishes for my writing when I got pregnant right out of journalism school. Sure, I did some freelancing here and there. But the places I thought I'd go, I never went. And I'd be lying if I said I haven't had moments of regret.

To be proud of this space and to have hope for what is yet to come...well, it is my newest BLISS.

The thing is, I haven't always been great about accepting bliss in my life or feeling deserving of it and I think it's something we can all relate to in some way.

I would love for you to take a moment to read my entry and cast your vote for either my story or one of the many other wonderful stories that are part of the contest.

Thank you to everyone who has already clicked and taken the time to send words of encouragement. I'm truly grateful.

I've told you how much it means to hear from my readers. If you're a blogger too, please leave your link in the comments. I'm looking forward to getting to know you all better.

 

 

 

dragon dances and tiger moms

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The first time I saw The Joy Luck Club, I was 20 and watched it at the local mall with my roommates. I cried so hard, I couldn't speak. There was no doubt I had just seen a stunning re-tell of my history; the stories I'd never been told.

I saw the movie again a few years later, this time with my sister and our Chinese mother. And the tears came again, perhaps even more so, as we witnessed our mother's reaction to a story closer to her heart than ours.

Before I wrote this post, I watched it once more. 

The sounds of my grandmother, aunties, cousins, sister and mom, as we gathered around tables piled with food and competitively clucked about who was taller, smarter, prettier and most likely to find a successful husband, came rushing back.

Our mother was always more cat than tiger. Sure, she had her rules. Good grades? Yes. Good manners? Always. Respect? Absolutely. But play dates, slumber parties, hours of free play? Too many to count.

Her own mother was a tigress in every respect. Twice widowed, once in her 30s and then again in her 40s, she gave birth to 13 children. She immigrated from China to Hong Kong and did not have an easy life. She lost two children to illness and was left to raise and provide for those remaining on her own.

She was forced to make desperate and difficult choices. She was hard on them. She expected a lot.

Watching the film as a parent filled me with questions about my mother's childhood. She said even with so many siblings, it could be lonely. There were restrictions, expectations, and comparisons that left some of them feeling less valued than others.

Even though it was the Chinese way, she told me, it wasn't good enough for her own children. And even though it was often a struggle to let go of her Chinese ways, she tried. When I look back, I can see how many times she succeeded. 

There's a scene in the movie that resonated each time I watched it. I don't know any Chinese daughter who wouldn't identify with this powerful exchange between mother and daughter. I can see myself, my mother and even my own children in the daughter's plea for acceptance free of expectation.

 

My sister and I were pushed to succeed and failure meant disappointment. We were compared, oh yes, definitely that. But we spoke out and we were always heard. An agreement wasn't always reached, but compromises were made. We always felt valued and loved. And I'm grateful for that.

We also had the fortune of knowing a different woman in our grandmother. Perhaps the burden of raising children had been lifted and, in this role, even with the barrier of language between us, she was able to give unconditional love.

Yesterday, we gathered our family together to celebrate the eve of our new year. I sat with my mom and sister and watched our children perform their yearly interpretation of the Chinese dragon dance. We exchanged envelopes of lai see. We ate, laughed, and prepared to welcome the spirits of our ancestors. 

I come from the heart of many tigers and have this story to share with my daugthers. My mother tried to quiet her tiger heart and she raised us to do the same. But it's still there inside each of us. Every roar the sound of hope. 

 

 

 

you surprised me

Sometime between dinner last night and the kids leaving for school in the morning, this sticker appeared at knee-height on a cupboard door. I'm not sure if it was a group effort or the work of a stealth lone ranger -- but the first thought that popped into my head was, "Right back at ya, kid."

Surprise. It's a word that comes to mind so often when I think of motherhood.

And it's a word that's here to stay.

Four children, four personalities, four different journeys. 

• You surprised me the moment each of you made yourself known with a pair of lines on a stick

• You surprised me the first time I looked into each of your eyes and recognized you

• You surprised me by changing everything I thought I wanted for myself to everything I wanted for you

• You surprised me with the indescribable joy of even your tiniest moments

• You surprised me when I stopped wanting to grow up and move on to the next thing and instead started wishing for time to stand still

• You surprised me with the depth of hurt I could feel on your behalf

• You surprised me with how much sleep I would lose even while you slept

• You surprised me with your generosity and kindness

• You surprised me with your ability to forgive my mistakes

• You surprised me with the way you see the world

• You surprised me with your gifts and talents

• You surprised me with the hope I feel for you every single day

• You surprised me with your love and patience for one another

• You surprised me with the ways you've changed my life

There will probably be a burst of giggles, finger-pointing, even a dash of worry as I try to get to the bottom of the mystery at tonight's dinner table. So I'll open with, "It was a really nice surprise to find a surprise sticker." 

They'll probably forget about it by tomorrow, but I won't.

Because isn't it life's best surprises that we should hold closest of all?

polar bears are cute and so are you

Like every good know-it-all mom, I had a clear vision of how things would unfold when I signed my gang up for winter (dark & cold) swimming lessons. 

While baby and I watched from the sidelines, my trio would go for their once-a-week dip. There would be splashing. There would be frolicking. They would emerge refreshed and invigorated, all wrapped up in warm, fuzzy towels...as cute as a pack of polar bears.

Because of his work schedule, there are two nights every week that Daddy misses out on dinner, homework, baths and bedtime. We've gotten used to it learned to deal with it, but the dark days of winter never do much to help my watch-the-clock-itis and this seemed a good and healthy way to pass the time. Being able to run them through the shower (literally) and throw them into pajamas would be an added bonus.

My kids love to swim. We've had them in the water from infancy and they took to it like fish (except for my son, who needed a really good pair of goggles to get over the "keep-the-water-out-of-my-eyes-or-i-will-scream" issue). 

So after cajoling, prodding and bustling the kids out of the house and into the dark, we were en route to our first winter lesson. Swimming suits smartly hidden under layers of clothes, pajamas and sweaters for added warmth, an impressive array of snacks, and the ever-important goggles. Three-quarters of the way there, I was feeling smug about my superior organizational skills and then it hit me...

"DID ANYONE PUT THE SWIMMING BAG IN THE VAN!??!?!"

Silence (except for the dramatic sigh from oldest child who knew how this would end).

Three perfectly capable kids had marched right past that bag. It's not how things are supposed to go around here; children are expected to bring school bags into the house, extracurricular bags out of the house and dishes to the sink. After unleashing a long string of for-my-ears-only expletives, the van was turned around and I sprinted in to fetch the bag. 

"WE WILL BE A PACK OF CUTE POLAR BEARS! DO YOU ALL HEAR ME???"

In the change room, we rushed. Boots, hats, mittens flying in every direction. We burst onto the pool deck, looking anything but cute. With a conga line of disheveled swimmers trailing behind me, I set out to find each child's swimming group (all of which were happily splashing and frolicking without us). It was only then I noticed my son's increasingly frantic sobs. 

"MY...(sob, sob, sob)...GOOGLES...(sob, sob, sob)...ARE MISSING."

And here I faced the dreaded stick-to-the-family-rules vs. just-find-a-way-to-make-this-moment-end. I knelt into a puddle of water in front of him (why didn't I think to pack my own pajamas?) and committed one of my biggest parenting sins, "Mommy will go and buy a new pair from the lifeguard. Just wait here." (NOTE: I never, ever buy something to make a kid stop crying with the exception of babies and grocery carts filled with perishable food items).

I ran back to the change room and rifled through jacket pockets for money. Then back out on deck, past sobbing son and into the life guard station.

"GOOGLES. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, I NEED GOGGLES." 

It was only then I noticed the young fella had a very familiar pair in his hand. Apparently, they flew out of our bag and onto the floor during our frantic entrance. Probably around the same time the strap on the bag decided to snap off (really). 

Back on deck, relieved boy, splashing and frolicking girls and exactly 10 whole minutes of lesson left.

I've learned: my kids are really good sports, swimming bags are hard to see in the dark, and clock watching might not be a bad thing.  

As for the polar bears? I let that roar out after the cubs were asleep. 

What about you? Do you put your kids through winter swim lessons?

 

 

 

 

 

 

lunchbox revolution

It's true, I was defeated.

Six years, three kids, five days a week, 10 months in a school year (minus glorious, glorious pizza days) and the filling of lunch boxes had me crazed.

But that's behind me now. 

Let's go back a little while. When my firstborn entered school six years ago, I happily complied with our school's litterless lunch campaign. We bought little pots with matching lids and slapped our teeny tiny labels all over them. I filled those pots with delicious bites and sent my girl on her way. But as the years ticked by and little brother and sister began boarding the school bus, my enthusiasm started to wane. She liked this, he liked that and the other wanted her snacks just so. 

Every morning, three yawning children, three yawning lunch boxes, and one yawning mom. 

I was bored, bored, bored. And I wasn't alone; those little pots were coming home with food in them more often than not. 

And then a happenstance glimpse of another child's lunch box changed everything.

"What is that?" I asked my son's classmate.

"An oatmeal flax muffin," she responded.

"And who made it?" I prodded.

"My mom did. She makes everything in my lunch." 

And it wasn't just the muffin (though it was outfitted in a delightful pink cupcake liner). Everything in that child's lunch box was simply adorable. I was smitten. I wanted to take her lunch and have it for my own. I wanted to make a lunch just like it.

Allow me to dazzle you now with some pretty flowers:

And scary monsters:

And top secret messages:

I had found my answer. Make lunch cute and they will eat it. Well in theory, it sounded good. And in practise, it was (gasp) fun!

While there will never be a lunch like this staring up at my child's face (much to my son's dismay),

I've now switched to a lunch box system that holds me accountable. When my kids flip that lid open, my handiwork is on display for all the world to see. I'm obliged to throw in bright colours and interesting shapes and though I haven't yet mastered the art of rice krispie balls....my kids are biting.

The lunch boxes are coming home empty!

I have a long way to go (though do note the homemade oatmeal flax muffin),

but I've always loved a challenge. 

I get swept up in the thrill of finding ideas to fill those brightly-coloured containers and let me tell you there is inspiration to be found. 

So stop sneering at those lunch boxes. Instead join me in giving them a knowing wink. Trust me, your kids will thank you.

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I was not asked to endorse Mabel's Labels, Laptop Lunches or the wonderful Bent On Better Lunches blog. They're just products and places that make me clap.