tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-195075892024-03-12T22:54:38.259-07:00The Writing MotherUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger458125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-13986662782797336232010-09-05T20:16:00.001-07:002010-09-05T20:16:47.902-07:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Wow, this is post #501 on The Writing Mother... and I'm here to tell you that I'm moving... </b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>You can find my new blog at <a href="http://www.redwritinghood.ca/">www.RedWritingHood.ca</a></b></span></div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-56639853422738474682010-08-31T20:59:00.000-07:002010-08-31T20:59:24.858-07:00Soooo excited!Changes coming soon... new platform (Wordpress) and new blog design coming soon from <a href="http://mamikaze.com/">Mamikaze</a>....<br />
<br />
WAIT UNTIL YOU SEE IT! :)<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-53448439621954074462010-08-24T19:32:00.000-07:002010-08-24T19:32:26.199-07:00Keeping PromisesOne of the reasons I've never committed to an "exercise program" is because I could never figure out how to PLAN my program. See, I'm kind of a planner. And when I mean I'm kind of a planner it's kind of like saying Eminem is kind of inappropriate.<br />
<br />
I'm a planner. I want to see 12 steps ahead at all times. I want to know that doing XYZ will result in 123. It's taken me a long time (9 years actually) to realize that now that I have kids.... things will never follow my plan again.<br />
<br />
Oh, I will try. Still I will try. I will make my plans, I will grit my teeth when they go wrong and pat myself on the back when they go right.<br />
<br />
And I am trying to change. Just by degrees. Not even my inches but possibly by millimeters... I am in Canada, afterall.<br />
<br />
My exercise plan is one example. It's not so much a plan as it is a promise to myself. I promise that I will try find a half hour to exercise every day. I used to think that wasn't enough. And maybe it isn't as much as I should do, but it's what I can do.<br />
<br />
Today I left the office with 45 minutes until I had to pick up my son from camp. I ran home, jumped in my work out gear and ran to the gym... which is in the same facility as the camp. I ran for 15 minutes, walked for five and left... red-cheeked and sweaty, to pick up my son.<br />
<br />
Not much... but enough so that I can say I'm a step closer to my goal. I can run for 15 minutes and make it 1.26 miles. That's about a 5 miles an hour... all I need to do is keep taking one little step at a time and make it to 1.5 miles in 15 minutes. Next time I'll try 5.1 miles an hour.<br />
<br />
But that's not all... I also managed to walk about 5km (I'm totally mixing up my miles and kilometers... hope you can keep up!) which I think is 3ish miles (I know 1.5 miles is 2.4km...) after the kids headed to grandma's.<br />
<br />
And I got the living room clean.<br />
<br />
I feel productive. I feel good.<br />
<br />
And I did it without a plan. I just kept my promise to myself.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-37334063288191075542010-08-23T21:13:00.000-07:002010-08-23T21:13:39.363-07:00Camping - A Photo Essay<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxL7tPKNyO9ym2fLOaM9X42zjQoBAUdLOwihze5mIbgPU8rCsMrsJCHae4W-zx_U9WjVV3a8XSj7vUYMmhnz8sya9yO2rwAOXi4niIXNakVPyjc0Zfqk5keNq0S7mWVXv9YL85/s1600/DSC_0046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxL7tPKNyO9ym2fLOaM9X42zjQoBAUdLOwihze5mIbgPU8rCsMrsJCHae4W-zx_U9WjVV3a8XSj7vUYMmhnz8sya9yO2rwAOXi4niIXNakVPyjc0Zfqk5keNq0S7mWVXv9YL85/s320/DSC_0046.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL6-3OH3YpZjzQ-65TUPfa1DVHs4Uzur0o6bH9u3euROG2RpJDH4zou68TMsJ8R5ehPg0_RM3lVezzygHWUEov_uEmzBadbBzknooEbBlb28qR0QlJ9wlgUEaZ_D03lVLOrJgF/s1600/DSC_0005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL6-3OH3YpZjzQ-65TUPfa1DVHs4Uzur0o6bH9u3euROG2RpJDH4zou68TMsJ8R5ehPg0_RM3lVezzygHWUEov_uEmzBadbBzknooEbBlb28qR0QlJ9wlgUEaZ_D03lVLOrJgF/s320/DSC_0005.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixM7tE4xeEJQTKQue7o3D5-vQ512xJO5c88_tPkoJ4dMtOeF-_mGIzlPFzH_LPvW75hqDcIbk9zHzPoWGJsYJDhhj6wiQrmXg7QIIez2TJvJcJli9jAGCelfMLLumlXIFexymw/s1600/DSC_0023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixM7tE4xeEJQTKQue7o3D5-vQ512xJO5c88_tPkoJ4dMtOeF-_mGIzlPFzH_LPvW75hqDcIbk9zHzPoWGJsYJDhhj6wiQrmXg7QIIez2TJvJcJli9jAGCelfMLLumlXIFexymw/s320/DSC_0023.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh00ezZp9UDEk3oPquh9wjc5KVEXx1awDiJo-QbqKzbaKJpFmVfAKyaT7NJGwuXAf6mCDeUHytbC8JH8sztQnSvyQ4YkCMeU60bLrU0nJy_vlF3s0IeybR3NfP5khy6Rns0d4bn/s1600/DSC_0024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh00ezZp9UDEk3oPquh9wjc5KVEXx1awDiJo-QbqKzbaKJpFmVfAKyaT7NJGwuXAf6mCDeUHytbC8JH8sztQnSvyQ4YkCMeU60bLrU0nJy_vlF3s0IeybR3NfP5khy6Rns0d4bn/s320/DSC_0024.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPSFs6fb8Zm8Gh7yd5G0lJBWAl1rJkpqXanSJqupf0nrVMWufTrVdvt1c_PbkH1cG-h882xLJ0u8njpwZ4ClNQy-MoQPA68EJvAh8lm6B3RF377Cbyhuxi5f0yZDLnJ783EBNN/s1600/DSC_0025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPSFs6fb8Zm8Gh7yd5G0lJBWAl1rJkpqXanSJqupf0nrVMWufTrVdvt1c_PbkH1cG-h882xLJ0u8njpwZ4ClNQy-MoQPA68EJvAh8lm6B3RF377Cbyhuxi5f0yZDLnJ783EBNN/s320/DSC_0025.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizQK0oTaXuyxQ05pv0Ay5hPyVMsN22vSygl8yzaWPT42Szk1bMpEI47EVcesXbrX7wlos3VRfnxHzcDK8CpbwhB71XYpwHoT9ymw7u0Vuq6lJvOAo-dNlP9Ec4oRiEcGjn0FBN/s1600/DSC_0029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizQK0oTaXuyxQ05pv0Ay5hPyVMsN22vSygl8yzaWPT42Szk1bMpEI47EVcesXbrX7wlos3VRfnxHzcDK8CpbwhB71XYpwHoT9ymw7u0Vuq6lJvOAo-dNlP9Ec4oRiEcGjn0FBN/s320/DSC_0029.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEhOQkaZN7cpcqcsj6mDDiCzT5wJt3FMejex_oQwADXCljOsXdxRncfr_6uibYzrNE2EsIUtzGhqck6Zyz_0YP5zk3bv_TskTiRS9D4ccpm7-iXg8ScafVaoeOPNnlGCoEN1oe/s1600/DSC_0026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEhOQkaZN7cpcqcsj6mDDiCzT5wJt3FMejex_oQwADXCljOsXdxRncfr_6uibYzrNE2EsIUtzGhqck6Zyz_0YP5zk3bv_TskTiRS9D4ccpm7-iXg8ScafVaoeOPNnlGCoEN1oe/s320/DSC_0026.JPG" /></a><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBueG3MNSsdGPiNLCa4sQ5cPMQhuITkfSo3GrR-unwsYzr56qrFMT96wvaX-N5rloAGLZnGLmfl9nHQGQowTzsH86DgKyOFyObiZXyJTkk8tB2vKLEpjnFqhqjW9c4VWuDbivB/s320/DSC_0040.JPG" /></div><span id="goog_224506434"></span><span id="goog_224506435"></span><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-21251091078567859442010-08-22T08:13:00.000-07:002010-08-22T08:13:18.177-07:00Nothing in the closet fits me....... says my blog.<br />
<br />
And so, we're going to go out and get something new!<br />
<br />
Details to come! :)<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-90601104894618908392010-08-15T07:58:00.001-07:002010-08-15T07:58:48.812-07:00Sign #593 that my daughter is meant to be IN CHARGE.<span style="font-size: small;">Emily: Mommy, can you draw me a picture?</span><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message">Me: Sure sweetie, what do you want?<br />
<span class="text_exposed_hide"><a name='more'></a></span></span></span></h3><h3 class="UIIntentionalStory_Message" data-ft="{"type":"msg"}" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="UIStory_Message"><span class="text_exposed_hide"> </span><span class="text_exposed_show"><br />
Emily: Ok. You draw a line in the middle, not bumpy.. I don't want it bumpy.. then you draw a unicorn on the top, and a horsey on the bottom, and then a little birdy on the top, a sister birdy on the bottom. You got it? Can you do those things? Don't forget the line.<br />
<br />
Me: ...</span></span></span></h3><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-31971453582678938162010-08-15T07:54:00.000-07:002010-08-15T07:54:32.255-07:00You got Balls? No. SHE has Balls.Sorry for the radio silence there... I had what we'd call a Catastrophic Event. aka... Mama was sick... I hate the flu but for whatever reason the greater the intensity of the flu, the shorter the duration... and this one was just a day. But a LONG day it was.<br />
<br />
I'm sure the reason that it was so intense was the stressed out ball of hell I became on Wednesday and Thursday. Part of my JOB (the one I never blog about) involves getting things to a place on a deadline (kind of sums up a lot of jobs!) and this was an important place and an important deadline and Things Were In Danger Of Missing Deadlines.<br />
<br />
So there was crying and pleading and some more crying (mostly on the phone to UPS, some of it may have been fake) and angry words (all definitely not fake) and a speeding ticket for $129 but Lord love a duck the eagle landed and I got them to their destination. <br />
<br />
And the next day the flu got me. Blech. I will spare you the details but I will tell you that the next day I was three pounds lighter. I do not recommend this method of weight loss.<br />
<br />
But I will digress no further. Have you all met <a href="http://www.nakedjen.com/">NakedJen</a>? I received a lot of positive comments when I posted <a href="http://thewritingmother.blogspot.com/2010/08/bikini-dare-whos-with-me-crickets.html">the bikini pictures</a>, but NakedJen did <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/31403417@N00/4889165439/in/photostream/">THIS</a>. I don't even have words for <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/31403417@N00/4889165439/in/photostream/">THAT</a>. <br />
<br />
I do have words. Brave. Beautiful. Courageous. Wonderful. Awesome.<br />
<br />
I am still investigating the meaning of "own your own glitter"... I think that phrase could find its way into my vocabulary if I could determine the proper usage. And I want to teach it to my daughter. Which will be easy because Glitter is her thing.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-90973340498955670532010-08-10T19:00:00.000-07:002010-08-10T19:00:23.434-07:00The Bikini Dare .... who's with me? ...... *crickets*I did something tonight. Something horrible. It wasn't eating the last two sugar cookies, though that was pretty horrible ... with a side of stupid.<br />
<br />
<br />
I put on a bikini.<br />
<br />
And took a picture of myself. Three pictures actually. Front, side, back.<b> And I did not suck it in.</b> I let it hang all out. <br />
<br />
My intention was to print them off and hang them on my fridge. Except what's even worse than that? Yep, putting them on my blog. The back shot is SO AWESOME with the back boobs.<br />
<br />
Are you ready? Have you cleared the room of small children? Whalers? <br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvjWMUSE67bMd2uOjuw92ArSqjhFVRmpAl7D7NiDVCu_FRlZuL3lxluBIjXkIcrDBY2LdkG_qFBJG0g1PNkOV5llGnKxU-qxzbnVtr1GqbB46j6ZP7GtI-tq6JzGL4NIO-hcfz/s1600/back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvjWMUSE67bMd2uOjuw92ArSqjhFVRmpAl7D7NiDVCu_FRlZuL3lxluBIjXkIcrDBY2LdkG_qFBJG0g1PNkOV5llGnKxU-qxzbnVtr1GqbB46j6ZP7GtI-tq6JzGL4NIO-hcfz/s320/back.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQCl51P8_u_CHgpNtYtJBvj4RJXfMdz71j0qDadoQiW8h5TkIUtqX_wphF1td_4foPuqx4FgZeVHqnhfakRFMe1vyrnEaEgDcrC6sxDiwbyf5ZgOWMgXe42f1ncBL_V4or8lal/s1600/side.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQCl51P8_u_CHgpNtYtJBvj4RJXfMdz71j0qDadoQiW8h5TkIUtqX_wphF1td_4foPuqx4FgZeVHqnhfakRFMe1vyrnEaEgDcrC6sxDiwbyf5ZgOWMgXe42f1ncBL_V4or8lal/s320/side.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfcBKLB8SJR8dZqqtqmmve32hw8R5773a1QlmmUl1wI5-3lYtXS4Txujd0izXwwa_raOTZmS_SI55u36naIz5WnrzcxT3aQaYD_zsUcqaBwvdu4V0HT2cIhv0USplF7qiCOcC4/s1600/front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfcBKLB8SJR8dZqqtqmmve32hw8R5773a1QlmmUl1wI5-3lYtXS4Txujd0izXwwa_raOTZmS_SI55u36naIz5WnrzcxT3aQaYD_zsUcqaBwvdu4V0HT2cIhv0USplF7qiCOcC4/s320/front.jpg" /></a></div><br />
So why am I doing this? Why in all that is holy would I put all the fab flab out there? I think it's a little shock therapy (for me, maybe also for you!) but I have my reasons:<br />
<br />
1) I believe we should be honest with ourselves - My body isn't perfect but it brought two babies into this world and it's done doing that and now needs to do something else. Be healthy and fit.<br />
<br />
2) I'm putting my application in for the Army Reserves in the Field Ambulance division. I need to pass the physical by December. <br />
<br />
3) I've walked around a beach wearing the outfit above and if I can do that in public what the heck is different with putting it on the interwebs? (I can't hear the fat jokes, that's what!)<br />
<br />
I'm about a size 14 and 184 lbs. My goal is not a size or a weight... though I'm sure I could define that goal as well. My goals are to be able to run a mile and a half in under 15 minutes by December, be able to do 10 push ups and 25 full sit ups and to feel comfortable in my skin.<br />
<br />
The funny thing is... just by posting these unflattering photos, I feel more comfortable - and more honest - already. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ffJJBMLNzByyaJ1KPsajL3fFSbbjaXu5IfoEv-FlDkQo2T1nrpMQXRBF74Zr1IiPRig8pC2B_tSeHa2HV9toSX5b6jt5_8mGgSEk5Djf1TSpgVWKM222ZECYjy7GWuQ73r4m/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ffJJBMLNzByyaJ1KPsajL3fFSbbjaXu5IfoEv-FlDkQo2T1nrpMQXRBF74Zr1IiPRig8pC2B_tSeHa2HV9toSX5b6jt5_8mGgSEk5Djf1TSpgVWKM222ZECYjy7GWuQ73r4m/s320/images.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>So.... is anyone else up for the bikini dare?<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-40512860013905124342010-08-06T21:04:00.000-07:002010-08-06T21:04:35.927-07:00Please don't use the "make the time" line with me.I'm having a pity party. There are no swag bags at this pity party. I feel like writing but I don't want to because I hate to give into the weepy anger and put it all out there so random people can judge me.<br />
<br />
I want to be in better shape, I want to exercise more but I can't seem to fit it in. The first person who says I have to make time is seriously going to get a gut punch. There's time but there's no ALONE time. <br />
<br />
I get up early and my daughter gets up with me. I can't work out with her underfoot because she's a normal almost-4-year-old and she wants things like food/cartoons/cuddles or she wants to work out with me and there's no freaking ROOM. Getting up earlier doesn't help because she just gets up earlier. Going for a run doesn't work because when Major Man works night shifts he doesn't get home until I have to leave and I can't very well leave my kids alone in the house.<br />
<br />
I tried to work out tonight and it was a gong show... my daughter kept getting out of bed over and over...<br />
<br />
I have a gym membership but I can never get there and back over the lunch hour AND eat. I've gone there starving and nearly passed out.<br />
<br />
I try to make a healthy lunch but our freaking 1960's fridge is so small I can't keep a lunch kit in there so I'm always trying to do it in the morning and running out of time. <br />
<br />
When hubby is working nights he sleeps until 5pm, then he's a zombie until he goes back to sleep at 8pm and I'm a single mom the rest of the time. The kids take all of me.<br />
<br />
I am losing a few pounds on weight watchers but it's slow and I want to get in SHAPE and not just lose weight. <br />
<br />
I feel like all of me and everything I want is wound up in other people. Like I need their permission because otherwise it's just selfishness. Or even if I get their permission it's still selfishness.<br />
<br />
I would love a personal trainer... I'd love someone who actually cared about my goals. Cared if I achieved them. It seems I only ever get one response when I voice these things: Well, you could do it if you made the time.<br />
<br />
It's true.<br />
<br />
But the time is there, it's just not time that belongs to me.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-39585192391634440932010-08-02T19:16:00.000-07:002010-08-02T19:16:29.602-07:00Mad EMR Skillz.It's no secret to anyone who has been around me for the last couple of months that I've been taking my Emergency Medical Responder course. I'm either boring my work friends to death with tales of my awesome EMR instructor or I'm re-telling some story that was told or showing them a new thing I learned... I feel like my brain has expanded, grown four sizes like some intellectual Grinch. <br />
<br />
I've always had a bit of a chip on my shoulder that I didn't go to college or university like some of my friends in high school. Although I did go to a different kind of school... that proverbial school of hard knocks where I'd get bucked off and stomped on fairly regularly. I knew how to break horses, castrate bulls, change oil, drive big trucks and many more useful little skills. I sometimes forget to give myself credit for those things because they were useful skills at the time. These days I'm more apt to get frustrated when I can't converse at a high enough level with a political adversary or talk about literature because the last book I read was Goodnight, Moon.<br />
<br />
So when the idea came up to make my EMR course, I figured "why not". I had recently had a stint in an emergency room (for myself this time, rather than one of the kids!) and I thought "how great it would be to have some skills to REALLY help someone when they need it".<br />
<br />
I think I'm a knowledgeable person in my job... I'm often the "go to" person if you want something analyzed or worked out or fixed.... I hope I'm not one of THOSE people who lords their knowledge over their co-workers, I like to help out.<br />
<br />
I was terrified at first to take the EMR class... I am not good with NOT knowing what I am doing. It was soon apparent that I was in over my head. But what was wonderful was that I loved it. I knew I was learning and I liked it.<br />
<br />
I'm in my last week now. Just a few days and I'll be writing my final exam. I've passed the written online exams (93% over 18 exams) and now I have a written final and a practical final.<br />
<br />
I am going to miss my classmates fiercely. A few are going on to the EMT program and it's hard not to be jealous ... I want to keep up my mad EMR skillz, but even more than that.. I want to keep learning. It's addicting.<br />
<br />
But the great thing is that we never stop learning as long as our mind is open to every experience. I'm thinking maybe I'll apply to teach CPR classes ... something that I can do on the side but that will keep my skills up. The other option is what I've been doing now: scouring the streets for signs of car accidents so I can whip out my EMR cape and run to the rescue.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-15183278108246163122010-08-02T19:00:00.001-07:002010-08-02T19:00:48.685-07:00How Do You Define Raising a Child?There's a tragic story in Alberta this week about an 18 month old girl who was seriously injured in a day home. (<a href="http://www.calgarysun.com/news/alberta/2010/07/20/14770891.html">story here</a>) I can hardly bear to think about a young baby being abused by someone who was supposed to care for her. So I'm going to leave that where it is and simply say some prayers for her and her family as she fights for her life tonight.<br />
<br />
But stories like this always bring out the crazies in the comments. Like this one: "If only people would wait to have children when they can take the time off themselves to be at home all day with them. Im baffled at how people bring a kid into this world, just to let someone else raise it! and then we are all surprised when soemthing goes wrong?! This is sad, sont get me wrong, but who do we have to blame but ourselves. Stop making babies just cause you can! wait until you have the time and money to raise them yourself."<br />
<br />
It makes my blood boil, it really does. I have to remember that the person writing this just doesn't KNOW. They don't know all the reasons for putting a child in day care. My daughter goes to sleep each night and asks me "do I get to go to daycare tomorrow?"<br />
<br />
We seem to have this 1950's definition of "raising kids". It's supposed to mean a mom at home with an apron on who has supper on the table while daddy goes out and earns a living. Nevermind that for hundreds of years kids weren't "raised" this way.... some were married and pregnant by 14. They had to get up and work on the farm and school was a privilege. It's only been in the last century that we defined "raising" kids by having a mom at home and kids having a pretty sheltered life without having to get up and milk cows at 4am.<br />
<br />
Raising a child is a long time commitment. It's 18+ years of knowing exactly where your kids are, thinking about their best interests all the time, making decisions with their needs ahead of your own. Raising also means funding and paying for kids. It means sometimes going without so they can have something they want or need. <br />
<br />
For some of us it means going to work full time and paying someone else to provide childcare. Childcare is not raising. That's like saying a house cleaner is a home owner. (There's another topic... oh how I'd love a house cleaner!)<br />
<br />
But I too once thought I'd never send my kid off to day care. But then I found myself raising my kid on my own and I knew that I had to go back to work to give him the best life. I tried three day homes that didn't work out and finally tried a large "big box" day care. I was terrified to do it - especially when family members were so critical of my decision. I remember words like "institution" and "abuse" being thrown about.<br />
<br />
Now I've had at least one kid in day care (the same "big box" company) almost consistently for six years. Both of my children LOVED day care. And why shouldn't they? It's playing with kids their age all day, doing crafts, unlimited supplies of paper, new learning experiences, fieldtrips... they both have gotten to experience way more than they would have if they'd been home alone with me.<br />
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And I'll admit something else... I am happier. Yes, I spend less time with my kids than my stay or work at home counterparts.... but we enjoy all of our hours. I have more patience. I have more energy. I can justify relaxing over doing laundry.<br />
<br />
I am thankful - so very thankful - that my daughter loves her day care. She loves her teachers. They greet her every morning with smiles and hugs and the smile at me and wish me a good day at work. She finds treasures during the week and wants to save them to give to her teachers. She has a sweet "boyfriend" at day care that she is inseparable from.<br />
<br />
So to those who might think like our friend above... who might think that I'm handing the reins over to someone else to raise my kid: think again. Raising involves so much more but I'm sure glad that I have wonderful partners to enhance my daughter's (and previously, my son's) life and bring love and laughter into it.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-55703458611131036232010-07-20T20:50:00.001-07:002010-07-20T20:50:37.160-07:00I don't often get excited about parking....... but this is pretty cool.<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Hf6z_Oae0u0&hl=en_US&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Hf6z_Oae0u0&hl=en_US&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-64407534896135789502010-07-15T20:43:00.000-07:002010-07-15T20:43:19.270-07:00In Which I Reveal Myself to Be.... a Crybaby.I've been sick the past week so posting has been sporadic and I've had my hands full with work-work (that's the full time gig), staying cool in the heat and warm in the cold (seriously in the span of a few days we've been 3C and 30C here in Calgary.... heatwaves then hail...), and fighting off a head cold. But a post has been brewing nonetheless. I just didn't know what I wanted to say.<br />
<br />
But tonight, the nice neighbour guy from across our back alley stopped by. He's been friendly, said hi a few times, offered us tools if we needed them (haven't yet), and been a pretty mellow dude (and his other half has gorgeous red hair with about a thousand times the body of mine). He asked us if we thought we might be getting a chance to get to our weeks that are creeping out in the back alley along our back fence. Plus the sticks and branches from the tree that fell apart a couple months ago. I didn't know what to say... he kept saying "I mean, they are looking a little nasty... and it's blowing into my yard, I mean... that's a fair comment, right?" He was extremely nice about it. I knew he wasn't angry or upset... just trying to politely confront an issue that was bothering him. He'd actually asked a few weeks ago if we were going to move the branches and if we weren't, could he move them a bit farther down the lane because he had to get his boat in his yard. (Yeah, I feel like the po' folk in the neighbourhood... me without my boat.)<br />
<br />
I agreed that it was a fair comment and sort of choked out "we will get to it".<br />
<br />
But the moment he left I started to cry. I feel like someone had just judged me to be messy, dirty, unclean... not fit for the Boats in Our Backyard Neighbourhood. I've tried to fit in, I really have. I've sat on the community board, I've volunteered on the PTA, I've helped out with the community garden... I've wanted to be a part of a community and raise my kids in one community since I was small. Since we moved around so much and I decided that raising a family meant (in part) choosing a spot and raising them... <br />
<br />
I mentioned the conversation to my husband, who seemed ambivalent. I had asked him to clean it up weeks ago. When he didn't seem as upset about it as I now was, I figured I'd better do it myself. Now. So I drove around back. I didn't realize that the neighbour was in his backyard... I hadn't meant to make a scene of it. I didn't want to be all "well, 9pm is just as good a time as ever, I'll just do it now... in front of you".<br />
<br />
But I wanted to do it in the cool air, not the heat of the day. I didn't want to use up a vacation day hauling it away (I've taken tomorrow off to get some writing and studying done), and I do not like people thinking I'm messy. Ok, I don't like people judging me at all and I want people to like me. There I said it.<br />
<br />
I want to take care of my new-to-me home and I don't want to be the white trash neighbours who leave crap out in the back alley. And I thought it was my husband's job to clean it up... I do the cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc... he does the garbage detail and lawn mowing... and this fell under garbage detail and lawn-type chores, I thought... AND, I'd only asked him once and made a point not to nag.<br />
<br />
I realized at that moment, if you want something done, you have to do it yourself.<br />
<br />
But when neighbour guy approached me and started to say "hey, hey, I didn't mean now... you don't have to do it tonight..." what did this strong, self-aware, empowered woman do?<br />
<br />
I cried.<br />
<br />
Yep, the guy must have thought that some housewife was cracking. I tried to explain that I have two jobs and I'm a part time student and my husband works night shift and I asked him to do it but.... and I'm sorry it's a mess and it should be cleaned up and it will be hot tomorrow and I don't want to do it in the heat.. and... and...<br />
<br />
The guy felt so bad that I felt bad for him and it made me want to cry more. I apologized and said it wasn't his fault I was crying, I've just been sick and busy and I didn't realize it was so bad and that it was bothering people...<br />
<br />
He kept saying "please just drive your truck around front and leave it, it's ok..." he said they are leaving on vacation and he'd help haul it away when he returned. I mean - could you ask for a better neighbour?<br />
<br />
But I felt.... like I'd failed or something.<br />
<br />
Which brings me to My Issue.<br />
<br />
I don't deal well with failure.<br />
<br />
And it doesn't have to be any run of the mill failure. It can be totally imagined failure as well. Didn't do as well as <b>I thought I should have</b> on that test? FAILURE. (Even though I got a 93%) Kid is upset and it's because I wasn't able to take him to the zoo because his sister was having meltdowns? FAILURE. (Even though we went the next day.) Husband runs out of clean underwear? OBVIOUS MARITAL FAILURE LOOMING.<br />
<br />
I mean... I actually feel bad when these things happen. I feel like I must be a perfect person so that everyone is happy. WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH THAT?<br />
<br />
Why when the nice neighbour comes over can't I just say "I'm so sorry, we've been swamped, you are totally right it's an eyesore - we'll get to it as quick as we can." I'm sure there are even people who would have said "we aren't breaking any laws, feel free to clean it yourself" and they wouldn't have felt bad about it at all.<br />
<br />
It occurs to me at this moment that I've forgotten to take <a href="http://thewritingmother.blogspot.com/2009_12_01_archive.html">La Crazi Pills</a> for two days in a row and possibly my over-emotional response is related to that. Well. I've already looked like a crying fool in front of the neighbour... no saving grace there. I'll just go take La Crazi Pill right now and pray tomorrow is better.<br />
<br />
Next time on The Writing Mother.... Heather enters a bookstore and feels like a failure for not having a new book on the shelves right now.... THRILLING READING. HOW WILL IT END?<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-2771071092615471032010-07-06T11:05:00.001-07:002010-07-06T11:05:50.284-07:00Wowza...Go have your say: <a href="http://www.blogher.com/studying-recent-studies-breastfeeding-and-happiness">Does Breastfeeding CAUSE divorce??</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-889761284018979272010-07-06T10:57:00.000-07:002010-07-06T10:57:33.263-07:00The Summer That Wasn'tIt's becoming a bit of a joke around here - first it was "our two months of summer", then it was our "one month of summer" and now it's "summer? what's that?"<br />
<br />
I like summer dresses and freckles and having to keep my blinds closed to keep the heat out. I like lawn chairs and sunscreen and the smell of 'bug juice'. I like summer naps without blankets and the sound of lawn mowers.<br />
<br />
But what I get is nights when I need to turn the heat on, cool days where I eat lunch with my legs covered by a blanket (because I still wear summer dresses, I refuse to let go), chilly mornings, chilly days, wind, cold nights.... ARGH!!<br />
<br />
And then to mix it up... we get some rain.<br />
<br />
So at least the garden is growing. But so are the mosquitoes and for some reason I feel more irritated by them when I'm cold. <br />
<br />
So come on Mother Nature, please give us a summer we can enjoy - I know I grumble when I have to spend it indoors at work, but I really do appreciate the sunshine!<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-67904209739440779682010-06-20T22:01:00.000-07:002010-06-20T22:01:19.484-07:00Rule #1: Go Outside if You Have to CryI've been taking an Emergency Medical Responder (EMR) course for a few weeks. It's one evening a week plus a couple of weekends. I've been taking it for a variety of reasons... someone told me it was "just advanced First Aid" and I thought it might be helpful since I have the soon-to-be-4-year-old accident prone child and I want to go on a mission in the spring and having someone with a bit of medical training would be handy when you're in Malawi or wherever we're going to go...<br />
<br />
I really want to do well. I love learning and I love applying knowledge that I've learned to build new skills. And I love a challenge. I really respect the instructor, he's pretty animated and tough, but he's been doing it a long time and knows what he's talking about inside and out. <br />
<br />
So far I'm doing well in the written and online tests, but the other half of the class is practical hands on knowledge. I can do all the vitals pretty well but this weekend we really started the scenarios...<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
... and it did not go well.<br />
<br />
A scenario is a staged trauma scene and the lead medic (me) has to run the scenario (advanced first aid my left butt cheek...) <br />
<br />
The first one did (rollover, pt walking around at the side of the road), I probably got about 80-85% or so... but that was with a medic from the field and looking back, he let us talk more than we should have (the helper was not supposed to talk at all, ONLY the lead medic). My second scenario (car accident with a patient that has walked to a local farm house) was with the instructor and I'm pretty sure I could not have screwed up more if I tried. <br />
<br />
I was on the hot seat, under the spotlight... it was worse than one of those dreams where you went to school one day and discovered half way through that you were naked. I pretty much killed my patient and to be honest I was kind of glad she was dead so the scenario was over!<br />
<br />
Then I spent 20 minutes crying in my van.<br />
<br />
It wasn't like I was the only one who had a hard time. Everyone did. Our instructor said the gloves would come off so he could find our deficiencies and where we needed to improve. But it was still a crappy way to end a two and a half day weekend... I had just started thinking I didn't suck.<br />
<br />
Because I am who I am, I've spent the last 7 hours going over in my head how horrible it was - I'm trying to stop that tape in my brain that says "you screwed up because you are stupid", "you can't fix stupid", "you're never going to get this". Quitting is not an option so my level of dread has increased significantly knowing I have 7 or so more weeks of this pain.<br />
<br />
I realized while talking to one of my classmates this evening that during the scenario I was feeling beat up, I felt there was no way out because I'd made a few bad decisions at the outset and now, basically, my instructor was going to screw me over. (He's warned us that if we make stupid mistakes that we'll see those bad decisions come back to haunt us later in the scenario.) So my mind was saying "you can't win this, you can't figure it out, he's got you... you don't know what you are doing, whatever you say it's going to be wrong".<br />
<br />
In fact, the whole thing kind of reminded me of an abusive relationship I was once in. I say relationship NOT in an intimate way but in a professional one. I used to work for someone who was quite abusive due to some issues he had, but I stuck with him because it was a good job... by the time I left I had a stutter. I could never do or say anything right. I knew every look that meant "you're stupid". <br />
<br />
That's what this felt like. <br />
<br />
I don't mean to say that it's the instructor's fault. Not at all. He's <b>excellent</b> and the school is well known as being the best. He's doing his job, this is serious business. People can and will die. He doesn't even say anything mean... it's just, I don't know... an expectant LOOK he gives, combined with my inner soundtrack (the one I thought I'd erased long ago and apparently has been on the back shelf, only to be played during times of STRESS).<br />
<br />
I was so surprised by the words that were popping up in my brain during and after the scenario. I am tough on myself but I was a teenager the last time this soundtrack played and I'd hear "you're no good, you won't succeed, you can't do it". Does that freaking soundtrack ever go away? (I mean, first it's probably on a cassette tape I recorded off of the radio... )<br />
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I'm happy I didn't cry IN the class. That would have really sucked. I was sweating and flushed and panicked, but I didn't cry. (I'm pretty sure the sweat was really just suppressed tears, at least that's my theory.) <br />
<br />
The best part of the whole thing was that these scenarios were NOT formally being marked in class. Thank you, God.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-63810037411508704052010-06-08T18:15:00.000-07:002010-06-08T18:15:37.484-07:00A Light at the End of the TunnelThings have been relatively quiet on the homefront these days. As I type that I look up to see if another shoe is about to drop right on my head. Although there are only 3 weeks left in school this year, we've decided to start M in some tutoring. It just happened that a great tutor became available ... the week I asked her about her schedule was week she'd had a family stop using her services due to one family member being laid off.<br />
<br />
So she comes to our house 4 days a week for an hour each time and already M has adjusted to the new schedule even though it's only been 3 school days. He knows that he comes home and the tutor will be there about 4pm.<br />
<br />
I am truly amazed by how she works with him. He's almost 9 and in grade three and he is falling behind in many areas mainly due to his behaviour and lack of focus issues, but he's a smart kid and both the tutor and I believe that if he just had confidence in his own work that he'd take more risks and have better self esteem.<br />
<br />
At first I was worried about how particular she was with every pen stroke, but she's so positive and encouraging that he just accepts the correction and then tries to do it correctly from that moment on. We're even seeing differences in his printing when she's not with him... She takes his homework and makes it a fun task: pulling up related videos on the computer and talking about all the different aspects of what he's learning about.<br />
<br />
She does a few typing exercises as well and has asked that we do just 5 minutes a day of that. And she's made it clear to him that he must bring his homework home or she works him overtime. Yikes! (At $30 an hour I'm hoping he brings that homework home, too!)<br />
<br />
For the first time in a long time I feel very hopeful. I see him smile when he's working with her and I see actual pride on his face when he looks over his work. <br />
<br />
While I'd like to believe that I could get the same behaviour out of him myself (for free!) I know that at this moment it's not possible. I'm MOM. Or Mooo-ooom. Or *sigh*mom*sigh*. Or Butt Mom. (But moo-oom...)<br />
<br />
It's taking a bit of a toll on our finances, I have to cut back (no allowance for me!) and I need to trim some money off of other areas.... but in the end, it's what he needs and that's what matters.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-82680789587542499532010-05-30T19:33:00.000-07:002010-05-30T19:33:30.624-07:00Boundaries of Space and TimeApparently John Cleese is not a writing mother. For him to be creative he feels we all need boundaries of space and time. Which is all well and good... except when you can't get those things and have a deadline anyway.<br />
<br />
Have a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zGt3-fxOvug">look</a>. <-youtube video.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-60054728227912383852010-05-30T13:54:00.000-07:002010-06-03T18:49:33.788-07:00Some Thoughts on BulliesRecently I came across a post on Facebook by Annie Fox (http://anniefox.com/cruel.php) and found her web site Cruel's Not Cool. My son has been mistaken for a bully in the past due to some behaviour issues. In fact he was what some call a provocative victim - someone who kind of gets himself in over his head with kids socially and then can't retreat and tries to fight his way out. <br />
<br />
<br />
We hosted a Dare to Care session for parents at our school and the administration followed it up with a kid's version. It helped me solidify some thoughts and feelings I have about bullies and bullying and victims and victimization. <br />
<br />
<br />
I'll give you some background: I had bullying tendencies as a child. I bullied my brother and some kids at school... then somewhere along the way the tables were turned and I became a victim throughout grades 6-9. It was a horrible time in my life and I really feel I got dealt a much tougher deal than what I'd dished out. I think when I bullied as a kid I was a situational type of bully... there was no systematic bullying, which is one of the necessary ingredients to be a true bully. But let me get back on track with my thoughts...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
First I think we have to realize that adults can display some bullying behaviour that is masked as "authority" or "demanding respect". They forget that you must give respect to gain it and they write off kids' feelings as moot... so not surprising kids behave the same way to others.<br />
<br />
<br />
Second, I think we need to consider that no child grows up as a natural bully. they were all bullied before... likely by adults first.<br />
<br />
<br />
So often we think bullies need to be made to feel worse for their actions but we forget that if they were at peace inside themselves and feeling ok about themselves, they wouldn't be bullies in the first place and no amount of shunning or brow beating will make them choose better actions in the first place, it will just make them bury their emotions for a later date, sometimes in adulthood in the workplace.<br />
<br />
<br />
As a society we save all our compassion for the victims, we have none left for the bullies. Imagine if we treated them as victims as well, or saved some compassion for them. It's obvious that they are hurting inside and it's just overflowing... <br />
<br />
<br />
The solution that society finds acceptable is to tell the bully that he or she is wrong/bad/evil/horrible. That in itself is a form of bullying, systematically (a system, society) telling someone they are "less than". It's not discipline, discipline comes from the word discipleship: "One who embraces and assists in spreading the teachings of another".<br />
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To me, this means we have to embrace and assist bullies, to help them heal and find their missing pieces. Because when they do that, they can fully understand how their actions affect others and they can fix the wrongs their actions created.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-61562271476966946502010-05-13T15:35:00.000-07:002010-05-13T15:38:11.989-07:00Shoot. Me. Now.I said I wouldn't do it. I said that I was done. I said I was backing off and taking time out for me.<br />
<br />
I said they'd survive without me. I said it was their problem. I said I needed to focus on the important things.<br />
<br />
I said a lot of things.<br />
<br />
Like today.... when I said "yeah, ok, I'll be PTA Chairperson again this year...."<br />
<br />
I don't know what I was thinking. I guess my supermom cape was calling... or I just can't let go of something when there's no one picking it up. <div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-41876925105845622772010-04-28T12:08:00.000-07:002010-04-28T12:10:59.522-07:00Days in LaPorte and Long-distance ParentingA couple weeks ago we found out that Major Man's best friend's mom was dying. A major stroke and they removed the feeding tube... and we waited.<br />
<br />
It felt horrible and morbid and so much like last year when we were waiting for Major Man's dad to pass away.<br />
<br />
Do we book flights? Do we tell work? Do we go before they die or after? How can we get the best flight price so we don't go into debt? Can we get childcare?<br />
<br />
Thankfully we live in the same neighborhood as my mom and she came through (again).<br />
<br />
After I'd been here in LaPorte just one day, my son had a rough day at school. So we texted and phoned and tried to understand what was going on and help the principal arrange for my mom to get him - he was angry and throwing a tantrum and using swear words. He couldn't be in the classroom and I couldn't do anything about it.<br />
<br />
It's a helpless feeling - like something is just happening to you and you can't do anything about it. I wonder if it's the same feeling my son experiences when he is having this trouble. My mind races and all I can think is "make it better, make it better, make it better". It's hard for me to put the responsibility on my son. He's eight. He needs to be responsible for his actions. He needs to make his own choices and maybe it's best when I'm not able to help him. Not able to make excuses.<br />
<br />
I try to deconstruct what happened. What was said, who heard it, is it he-said-she-said or legitimate? Is he lying? Are they lying? I try separate what happened and his behavior.... try to tell him over the phone that even though he says he's not lying and even though he's mad and even if he's completely righteously angry... he's still responsible for his own behavior. Using swear words and ripping up paper is not the way to go.<br />
<br />
At one point he had written two swear words about another child in his notebook and this little voice inside my head started whispering (don't make a big deal about it... shhhhhh). Because I wait for the day that a teacher says my son *can't* write something. Because - helloooo - I'm a writer. Unfortunately I haven't figured out in my own mind how (if) the freedom of expression should be limited in the classroom when it comes to writing. Speaking, yeah... writing? I'm not sure.<br />
<br />
As my son gets older, I have to curb my instinct to protect him, to allow him to fall and fail more often when it's within his own power to make his own decisions. But it's so hard. I half expect the teachers to protect him but I know it's not possible in a classroom with 17 other students.<br />
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My son (8 years old) gets a long with girls quite well - he is an emotional kid at the best of times and when two girls started whispering and leaving him out of a conversation he reacted poorly. I try to tell him that it's ok if they don't want to play at that moment and it's ok for them to have a private conversation... and the school tells all three of them that it's important not to let others feel left out.<br />
<br />
Major Man is good at this sort of thing. He can separate and evaluate what happens at school and identify where a kid should be responsible for his own behavior and when the school needs to step in. Maybe it's because this is his step-son, I don't know... all I know is that all my logical behavior seems to go out the window and Mama Bear takes over and I have to rein her in. It's more frustrating but easier to do when I'm thousands of miles away in another country... and phone calls cost a dollar a minute!<br />
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But the funny thing is - I feel the distance whether I'm right there or far away. I feel that there's nothing I can do to cross the chasm between Mother Protector and supporting my son's independence by making him responsible for his own actions. Either way it's parenting from a distance.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-77221552869959471832010-04-24T19:17:00.000-07:002010-04-24T19:17:35.478-07:00Hey, Kid, Are You OK?I'm really enjoying my Standard First Aid Course this weekend. Weird, I know, but I think in another life I could be an EMT or something... Now I'm a coiled spring, waiting for someone to drop so I can practice my mad life saving skillz.<br />
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When I came home I figured I'd pass on my knowledge. Witness my kids' mad life saving skills.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">M practices "hey, kid, are you ok?" </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheLn2ZEGHwAGIm8mAiCEpYPHbAD4npVT8TZRq2ixnm_wMkgdM9GScAg6ujdHM8jXKT1IsPrGpWhQw-7pPUk38L5QbpRyuHnqZ_gyJCP-88JcziP_yac_hFiumNjzEqoFaMgpmC/s1600/DSC_0034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheLn2ZEGHwAGIm8mAiCEpYPHbAD4npVT8TZRq2ixnm_wMkgdM9GScAg6ujdHM8jXKT1IsPrGpWhQw-7pPUk38L5QbpRyuHnqZ_gyJCP-88JcziP_yac_hFiumNjzEqoFaMgpmC/s320/DSC_0034.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Then it's 'chin lift' and look, listen, feel...then Airway check and Breathing check...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimjOOZfdCkK9M994vyLwsrjgiB0syMCXK7scmWcafh6QjNZZ1RWp-iBW066vpXfdNwqUliUR7nz7i6HwVcgad8MaaYWhAAZIAJcQGD3N__K3qHTWuUshVkGufso3Lx6HrXupoA/s1600/DSC_0035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimjOOZfdCkK9M994vyLwsrjgiB0syMCXK7scmWcafh6QjNZZ1RWp-iBW066vpXfdNwqUliUR7nz7i6HwVcgad8MaaYWhAAZIAJcQGD3N__K3qHTWuUshVkGufso3Lx6HrXupoA/s320/DSC_0035.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">CPR or Circulation</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZampPrfUFvchotloyEOxrVu0FTMs_5CfHH_JOOZ9vVT4Xt2oDni-9GtzJ8T7wzAlRhWmXNBuRI_GPTy6RoZEM7Wj8u3uFvFQ5zglwmfa4Nq0Pdfgt9AI7JDFHiogdudkGWL1/s1600/DSC_0037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpZampPrfUFvchotloyEOxrVu0FTMs_5CfHH_JOOZ9vVT4Xt2oDni-9GtzJ8T7wzAlRhWmXNBuRI_GPTy6RoZEM7Wj8u3uFvFQ5zglwmfa4Nq0Pdfgt9AI7JDFHiogdudkGWL1/s320/DSC_0037.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">I have to admit, he's got some good skillz... he even knew what to do (I'm not sure where he learned them!) and how quick you are supposed to do the chest compressions... and he knew (and made sure to tell me) that when you practice on another person you aren't supposed to do it FOR REALS. Smart kid that one. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">E had a different technique. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">"Hey kid, are you ok? Let me maul you, just to check." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIpuB-vH-fFh6dFeeLfj1UovBKVQlO9awmWU3fCnqgux_pS5eg462nNQetYyeHioXhuP863EpCj92vIK241fMHauogDTTkQpigItIBCJegSZCS42P40_woeGWPY3HeLPulJBE9/s1600/DSC_0038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIpuB-vH-fFh6dFeeLfj1UovBKVQlO9awmWU3fCnqgux_pS5eg462nNQetYyeHioXhuP863EpCj92vIK241fMHauogDTTkQpigItIBCJegSZCS42P40_woeGWPY3HeLPulJBE9/s320/DSC_0038.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Airway check... can you breath when I cover up your face? How about poke you in your eyes?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpNC8Uc97Ep4SYvnm022XwTp338kpioJ09JobxyhBptyRrknsMo9TgI-hBDDpzsbq9CSjYX6cV4E6FkhRCVkbwPcYKWybuNM1e2kb2ht57VuU5UN1YfsbmHXyBOOpmBMTuew5Z/s1600/DSC_0039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpNC8Uc97Ep4SYvnm022XwTp338kpioJ09JobxyhBptyRrknsMo9TgI-hBDDpzsbq9CSjYX6cV4E6FkhRCVkbwPcYKWybuNM1e2kb2ht57VuU5UN1YfsbmHXyBOOpmBMTuew5Z/s320/DSC_0039.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Circulation via the popular "wrestling" technique:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDMR7oZ4p25n_OaEH2iFATi_QYPHJ2YrH7RxzXyGDr1_jBgSh8IVgPGmAuj3-4mOfDQCp21p_VT4-lY9ovajzD8CN8MzhoORurwWBLfD8t5ZBliF-ZLppw1Dw16bdDpXcNTv5O/s1600/DSC_0040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDMR7oZ4p25n_OaEH2iFATi_QYPHJ2YrH7RxzXyGDr1_jBgSh8IVgPGmAuj3-4mOfDQCp21p_VT4-lY9ovajzD8CN8MzhoORurwWBLfD8t5ZBliF-ZLppw1Dw16bdDpXcNTv5O/s320/DSC_0040.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Makes sense though... usually we're performing some kind of first aid on Miss E. In fact, in my class today I realized I had first hand experience with multiple scenarios... thanks to my no-holds-barred daughter.</div><br />
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</div><div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-42876509046719053562010-04-15T12:57:00.000-07:002010-04-15T12:57:05.690-07:00Nature & Child Reunion Part 3<i>The Motherhood Muse literary magazine is celebrating the publication of its second issue by going on a blog tour during the month of April. Bloggers who host The Motherhood Muse will receive a free subscription to the 2010 issues as well as one free subscription to give away to one random winner who comments on their blog the day of The Motherhood Muse post. We hope everyone will enjoy both the post and magazine! The Motherhood Muse blog tour schedule can be found at <a href="http://www.themotherhoodmuse.com/">www.themotherhoodmuse.com</a> and <a href="http://themotherhoodmuse.blogspot.com/">themotherhoodmuse.blogspot.com</a>.</i><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Nature & Child Reunion Part 3<br />
Reconnecting Children With the Natural World <br />
Written by Jodi Hiland of Happy Trails Family Nature Club</div><br />
The Nature and Child Reunion<br />
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While the issue of kids not spending as much time in nature seems like a huge one, the exciting news is that there is a strong Children and Nature Movement building, around the world. Countries everywhere are experiencing the same issues, and they are collaborating in different ways to create a new reality. <br />
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Since there are many barriers to children's outdoor play, the answers will have to be met where those barriers originate. It will take efforts at all levels of society to make change. For example, a housing developer in Woodbury, MN purposely included natural spaces for children in his development. However, children still aren't using these areas. What will it take for those children to go out? Possibly a change in the family, such as loosening family schedules, parents working through some of their fears/dislikes abut the outdoors, etc. Or perhaps policy change at the governmental level will bring more balance to the homework situation. It's probably many things.<br />
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Many organizations exist that already are in the business of children and nature, and they need more support. These include Scouting groups, 4-H clubs, nature centers, state parks, etc. I didn't realize how little time Scouting groups actually spend in nature these days, including camping!<br />
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We need to make our views known to city planners and developers about how we want our natural spaces to look, and how to redevelop other areas. <br />
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Homeowners and renters can push for looser restrictions on covenants that prohibit natural play. <br />
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We can ask parks commissions to naturalize current and new parks.<br />
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Our society needs protection against rediculous lawsuits.<br />
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There are many types of organizations who are in a position to educate, and call for change. Faith-based groups, non-profit organizations, corporations and more, can all make a big difference.<br />
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Since school is where the majority of kids spend their whole day, reforms need to happen there. We can support educators who are already trying to work within the system to bring nature to children. Schoolyards need to include green space, and natural play areas. We can support our local nature-based schools, like Dodge Nature Preschool and Garlough Elementary in West St. Paul, the preschool at Tamarack Nature Center in White Bear Lake, and the Michael Frome Academy in Woodbury.<br />
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The study of Natural History is vanishing from college course offerings. These need to be re-established soon, as the nature experts we have benefitted from across the country are retiring.<br />
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Health care providers of all types are an important influence in how much nature time kids experience. This can actually be prescribed to complement, or even replace, other types of therapies or medications.<br />
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Let us honor and learn from the indiginous cultures with whom we are fortunate to share the Earth. May we restore what is theirs, and not remove any more. <br />
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I believe the best thing we can all do right now is to... go outside! I know I feel nature's restorative quality the minute I get "out there". Let's work together as a culture, within our own families, and in our own hearts, to "go back to the land". <br />
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May the future lives of our world's kids be always full of "loose parts" with which to play!<br />
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Thank you for reading this post today. Please leave a comment here and the blog hostess will choose one person to receive a free subscription to the 2010 issues! We hope you’ll also sign up for our free e-newsletter, so you can receive the first issue of the magazine free! Stop by <a href="http://www.themotherhoodmuse.com/">www.themotherhoodmuse.com</a> for more information!<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-26087535188771704842010-04-11T19:23:00.000-07:002010-04-11T19:23:47.128-07:00Just Some PTA PropagandaIf you have a child in a public school, then you have probably had some glancing interaction with the PTA, even if it was to avoid making eye contact lest they suck you into their cult and wind up the room parent for the whole year. At least that's how I felt about it. I used to see groups of moms gathering on the playground and think "yeah, those are the PTA moms". Except, since I didn't attend any meetings, I didn't know which moms were actually "PTA moms".<br />
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So I went to a couple meetings and found out that the population was much smaller than I had originally thought. The entire PTA was less than 10 people. And that included teachers. I attended a few meetings and next thing you know, I was sucked in. Except I wasn't a room parent, I was PTA Chairperson. I think it was due to my past board experience and the fact that I had two legs and a heartbeat.<br />
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We have not only helped fund $60,000+ in school resources (field trip buses, math carts, swimming lessons, laptops, etc...) but we have been able give direction to the school in how we want to volunteer and how we feel about non-scholastic issues like security and community involvement. <br />
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But the real story is not what has happened in the school. It's what happened in the moms.<br />
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Well, I can't speak for all the moms, but I can speak for myself.<br />
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In the last year I went from a mom with a kid at school, to a mom who had other mom friends who could read my thoughts with the roll of an eye or the tilt of a head. Mom friends who would ask me if I was OK on the bad days and would actually care about the answer. Mom friends who actually liked my kid and would go out of their way during the rough weeks to tell me good stories about my kid at school. Mom friends who would look me in the eye and say "I don't believe you that you are ok, I think you need to see a doctor" when no one else would stand up and say it.<br />
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They sang karaoke at "meeting B" and organized a community garden for 20+ families. They shared wine and martinis and we helped each other through rough points and watched movies together and watched each others' kids (the only moms I'd trust!). <br />
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And this past week those mom friends organized a beautiful conspiracy. <br />
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They knew about the miscarriage and the dog and they brought me dinner three nights in a row. The first time I thought it was just a one-of. Chicken and Rice that was super yummy and a homemade cherry pie. Day two I didn't realize the conspiracy so I made dinner, but I got apple pie and ice cream for dessert. And tonight I got homemade organic chicken soup and biscuits. <br />
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I mean, I love my husband but even he hadn't offered to cook me dinner! (He did have wine ready for me when I came home from the hospital.)<br />
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One of the moms is a dog trainer and not only did she take on the burden of actually picking Finn up and returning him to the shelter, but she brought me chocolate and magazines for my days off work, to ensure I'd keep myself on the couch and relaxing instead of what I was inclined to do: Clean the house! Catch up on laundry! Oooh Yard Work!<br />
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Now, could I have met these women if I hadn't volunteered with the PTA? Yes, sure. But we wouldn't have spent so much time together, we wouldn't have had so much to talk about (because you know as well as I do that you can only talk about your kids so much...) because we had problems to sort out, budgets and volunteer shifts and BBQs and field trips and plenty of time to get to know one another in a non-judgmental environment. (Because the playground feels judgmental, thanks to our personal experiences with it as kids!)<br />
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With all that is going on in my life, I may not be volunteering as much next year and that's ok... because PTA is not a life sentence. I can't take time off and volunteer later... it really isn't a cult that doesn't let you go.<br />
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But it does allow you to make friends who won't let you go. And I look forward to many, many more years with them.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19507589.post-63746911325640564692010-04-09T21:43:00.000-07:002010-04-09T21:43:16.392-07:00I miss the dogI miss that darn dog so much that I can't think about him without crying. I know he's just a substitute since I lost the baby on the same day the dog left. I know that my grief isn't just for the dog so I keep trying to remember all the bad things he did. You know, chewing shoes and waking me at 5 am because he thinks it's time to get up and, well, that was about it.<br />
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But I keep remembering his eyes when he'd lay his head on my lap. How he'd press his head down on my lap and wrap his paw around my leg. How my daughter would laugh and giggle while she'd try to wrestle with him.<br />
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I know it was the right choice to let him go, so my family could be whole and my husband could trust that I'd listen to him.<br />
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I know that what I miss is holding a baby. Writing down names. Feeling the kick in my belly. Spending my days with my family and not going to work. Smelling baby breath. Choosing cute outfits. Nursing.<br />
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But I can`t miss that because it didn`t happen. It was too early, it was too small.<br />
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But I do miss the dog.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Copyright The Writing Mother (Heather Cook)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1