The people who loved me first.

I am like my Mom 

when I am in a group of people I don't know

when I tackle a problem

when someone needs me

when I fight for what I believe in

when I stay up all night reading

I am like my Dad

when someone needs cheering up

when I get mad

when I need to diffuse a situation

when my sense of humour shows

I am me.

I am most like me when I remember that the traits of the people who loved me first, who will love me always, are woven into the fabric of who I am.

Nature vs Nurture.  A pointless debate. 

They both matter.  From the day I was born, eight minutes before my twin brother, I was a flurry of activity. I had a mass of thick hair, just as stubborn as I was. When I entered a room, I commanded it, but on my own terms.  I've never liked big surprises.  I loved being around others, but when I needed to find peace, it was, and still is, found at home. I always needed there to be music. I always needed to be moving. I spoke fast, and I spoke often. I was, and still am, quite shy in new situations, until I am comfortable - then I'm the life of the party. I used to be afraid to try new things; now I relish it. My twin brother --a strong personality in his own way--was often caught up in the whirlwind that was me. He is still one of my strongest supporters.

The constant love at home was a safe haven for me, especially in the early years of school, when I was bullied horribly.  It didn't matter what school I attended, or what city I lived in. Bullies can smell a vulnerable person a mile away.  I was called Medusa, because of my wild and thick curly hair. Kids would pretend to be turned to stone when I looked at them.  I was punched, my clothing torn.  Called names. Had things thrown at me. I was thrown in the NIM bin.  A teacher who finally rescued me said "Why would you crawl in there?", choosing not to believe that someone had put me in there when they heard the collection truck coming.

You know when it ended?  In Grade 8, when I stood up for my friend, who endured bullying as well.  Enough was enough, and I shoved one of the bullies in a locker.  She ended up stuck in the locker, her head and arm wedged in its narrow confines.  They had to cut her out.  I'm not saying it was the right way to act. But she punched my friend, and I had to make this girl, who was easily 6-8 inches taller and 40 pounds heavier than us, STOP. No one punches my friends.

At home, I was accepted for who I was, and taught to embrace my uniqueness.  I was taught to fight for what I want and to always give my best, but never to hurt someone else in the process. That it was okay to make mistakes.  That I was ok. That everything in life is a choice.

As a young girl, I was diagnosed with severe learning deficiencies.  At the time, it was a less sophisticated system.  "Borderline Retarded", they said. She'll never go to University, and she will be lucky to finish high school, they said. My parents said nothing to me. They never told me, so I didn't know. I knew I worked hard, but just assumed that was what I had to to.  A couple of years later, when we moved from Quebec to Ontario, they refused to allow my school records to be transferred. They would not allow the stigma to follow us.

I didn't know I was "dumb". I didn't know that I wasn't supposed to graduate.  So I did. I graduated from High School. I graduated from University.  By the time I was in high school, I knew I was different, and I had help, but it was ME that defied the odds.

They never told me, so I didn't know.

They chose to let me go on believing that all I had to do was work hard.  And man, did I work hard.  What took the average person 1 hour to complete, took me 2-3 hours. I had to relearn math skills over and over and over, because it never stuck in my head.

The result of their love and support, is that without even knowing it, I learned two very important lessons.

1) Anything worth doing, is worth working hard for. 

If you really want something, you figure out what you have to do to get it.  Then you do it.  More than once, as you go along, you will probably have to change what you are doing, but you keep your eye on the end goal. Changing your goal isn't quitting, its part of life.

2) You can accept the diagnosis, but you don't have to accept the prognosis

My learning disability is a fact. The scope of the learning disability is also, fact.  A rigorous testing, finally done when I was in University, shows the facts in black and white. The difference between my lowest IQ score (pattern recognition) and my highest (memory), is 136 points. Those are the facts.

Years before, my parents had chosen not to believe that I couldn't attain what anyone else could, so who was I to think any different.

This served me well when at seventeen, I was in a terrible car accident.  Even unconscious, I fought.  I fought to get better.  Then, when I was out of hospital, I fought to play flute again.  Then, I fought to walk without assistance. One doctor said, "At the rate the muscles in your leg are deteriorating, you'll be in a wheelchair by your mid thirties." So at 38 I ran a marathon.

If I had been unsuccessful; if the doctors were right, and I couldn't have played flute again, or I was typing this from a wheelchair right now, I would be okay with this.  But I wasn't going to just accept a fate that someone else decided for me.  It was, and always will be my choice to fight.

Some have said "Wow, that's some luck you have!"

They are right, I am so lucky. I have the greatest parents, I am alive, I can walk. To anyone who thinks that what I have accomplished is incredible, I must remember to tell them:

I am who I am because of the people who loved me first.

Lazy mornings and science fun!

Today I spent the whole day with my children and we didn't have to do anything. A school PD day meant the kids had no school, so I took the day off. (Thanks to all my bosses!) Nothing scheduled, nowhere we had to rush to.

 

AND MAN...DID WE HAVE FUN!

This is a rarity.  The not having to do anything part.  We frequently have fun.  Its a full on festival of shits and giggles here.  But we also run a pretty tight ship.

Between my running addiction hobby, the kids' karate lessons, Jordan's karate, my 3 jobs, my Community Action Network committments and Jordan working shift work, if we didn't run a tight ship, things would fall apart. Our schedule is the duct tape that keeps our family going!

First on the agenda was a lazy morning.  No alarms, we all woke up naturally. For me, of course, this was only 10 minutes later than I normally wake up. I turned on Canada AM and watched TV.  FROM BED!   Not too long after, the pitter patter of Corbett's feet could be heard and suddenly I had a little guy to snuggle with.

About an hour later, we decided to go downstairs for breakfast, while Zachary was still sound asleep.  About ten minutes later, Zack joined us. Lazy mornings are the best. THE BEST!

Finally, we packed up and headed out to our local Science centre, Science North, to make good use of our family membership.  Seriously, one of the best purchases EVER!

We spent a good four hours there, doing everything from petting tarantulas, visiting the butterflies, trying on moose antlers, working on our sprint starts, estimating how tall we will be when we grow up (apparently I'm done), and polishing rocks.  There was so much more we did, and so much we didn't get a chance to do!  That's the best part of the family membership.  We can go back anytime we want, so we don't have to feel as though we have missed anything.  SO. MUCH. FUN.

It really was such a great day, and something I rarely get to do--spending time, just me and the kids doing FUN stuff. Did I mention how much fun we had?

I have to make a point of doing this more often.  Anyone want to pay me to stay home?  Anyone? 

 Corbett showing off his name spelled in close ups of the patterns from butterfly wings (I think).  I am not sure why he looks so possessed/excited.

 

 Zachary showing off his name!

 

 Corbett the Moose Loves to Rock.

Apparently this Moose also begs.

 

 Zachary sports some impressive antlers. 

These things are HEAVY!

 

 Corbett's polished stone. This was a very cool workshop. Also, very messy!

The perfect boy activity.  Powertools, fast moving sanding wheels and mess.

 

 Zachary polished his all on his own, without help.

Kids 7 and under needed adult supervision, so I helped Corbett, but Z-man did great on his own.

 

 When we were done, we went over to the microscope and checked out the creations!

This is Corbett's.

 

Zachary's masterpiece.

Monster Gangnam Style!

Halloween has come and gone.  I have only eaten ONE of my children's candies.  I know. I'm a saint!

Truthfully, they don't actually have a lot of candy.  Not even enough to fill a Ziploc Freezer bag full. They are totally okay with this. 

I am always proud of them.  They do a lot of things to make me proud, but here is the latest.

They gave up trick or treating, so that they could attend a fundraiser for a baby that they haven't even met.

Seriously.  I honestly don't know if I would have done that at their age.

The karate dojo they attend, Benoit's Martial Arts, hosted a Haunted Dojo Fundraiser, with the proceeds going our Shihan's nephew, Kaden, who was born with a very rare condition.  In fact, it is so rare, that our province's health plan doesn't cover the necessary physiotherapy he requires.  You can learn more about that by visiting Kaden's webpage. 

When the kids mentioned they would like to go, I told them it meant that they wouldn't be trick or treating.  The dojo is about a 30 minute drive for us, so I really wasn't willing to drive for an hour (there and back), so that they could trick or treat.  It also meant that there would be no one at our house to hand out treats.  We get over 200 kids each year.

They decided that going to the fundraiser was more inportant, so that's what we did.

We had SO. MUCH. FUN.

Many people at the dojo put in a lot of work to make a Haunted House.  They determined levels of scariness (levels 1 - 5), and let the kids pick which levels they would do.

Zachary made it all the way to Level 5, Corbett stopped at Level 3.  And let me tell you...it was fantastic.  (I did Level 5.  I was able to restrain myself from punching or kicking any of the scary volunteers)

The next day, we found that the boys each won Best Costume award.  Zachary for coolest costume, and Corbett for cutest costume.

It was a great event, and most importantly, it supported a great cause.  If you wish to offer financial support to help Kaden get the therapy he needs, please feel free to donate.

Jessica

The Reason I'm Still Running....

I initially posted this in April of 2011, days before I ran my first half marathon.  I thought it appropriate to repost today, 4 day before I run my first full marathon.

Never let anyone tell you that you can't do something. 

Jessica

On May 24th, 1991, I was the driver of this vehicle.

I am thankful for every day- EVERY day-because I know how fortunate I am to be alive.

I suppose that a better writer could phrase that more eloquently, but there you have it. I am LUCKY. For some reason, my passenger and I survived that horrific crash. What's even better is that we both chose to live after we survived.

We did not escape uninjured. After leaving the road and hitting a small rockface, the 1982 Ford Escort flipped end for end multiple times. The force of multiple impacts tore the backseat from the floor - it crashed through the back window and was found outside the car. Eventually the seatbelt could no longer restrain me and I was thrown into the back. I suffered serious injuries. I ripped the clutch out with my foot; I bent the steering wheel with my face, breaking my jaw. My esophagus swelled shut, and one lung collapsed. Eventually, with my body so weak, I developed pneumonia. My digestive system went into shock and would not work for days. I was injured and sick, and I fought like crazy to survive.

However, despite incredible care, 20 years later, there are still after effects. I suppose one never fully heals from injuries of that magnitude. I've had several surgeries on my jaw and still suffer from a nasty case of TMJ. It was years before I could chew anything harder than overcooked pasta. It is still difficult to eat many foods. Due to the injuries to my ankle, which were initially overlooked in favour of saving my life, I spent about 10 years on crutches and canes and was finally given a brace to deal with a condition called drop foot. It was presumed I would likely not walk again without some minor form of assistance. It was presumed that because of the injuries to my jaw I might never play flute again, something I was very talented at and loved immensely.

HA!

I still play flute. I still walk with a limp and have reduced sensation in that leg, but I walk on my own. Not only do I walk - I run!

It was not enough for me to just defy the odds and walk unaided--13 years later, I wanted to see if I could run. First a 5km race, then another, and another. I am neither fast, nor am I slow. I am still always secretly amazed that my body has let me continue to run one more race. I have continued to train and on May 1, 2011 I will run my first Half-Marathon.

21.1 km. 13 miles. In one day.

Many people think I am crazy. For others the distance is not that far. It's important to remember that I have run with people that run multiple marathons a year. For some people, 21.1km is merely a fun run, not a challenge (they're the crazy ones, by the way)

But for me? For me, this is overwhelming!

Once, a handful of people who know medecine, but don't know me, decided that the odds were stacked against me. I decided they were wrong. For as long as I can remember I have chosen to believe that my willpower is stronger than "the odds". This doesn't mean that I am not plagued by self-doubt. I wonder if I can do this, I wonder if I should do this. But really, the only way to know for sure is to actually go out and DO IT!

So, in the end I will not be intimidated by this half-marathon, because for me, I have already conquered the real battle. The brace, and the crutches and the cane stay in the closet, readily available - just in case. But I know I won't need them. 20 years ago I could have accepted the fate offered to me by the doctors. I could have gone home and never played flute again, instead of going on to study music and psychology . I could have just accepted the brace and the cane. But always, always, I could see the end goal. The challenges were just part of the journey.

Finishing my first half-marathon? THAT'S the reward. THAT'S what I believe is owed to me.

Its been almost 20 years, and I have decided to collect.

(The friend who was travelling with me? I dont think she's run any half marathons -she says she prefers to sprint!)

A little help, from a little boy.

The kids and I spent the Labour Day weekend with friends while Jordan was working. When we returned home, there wasn't much in the way of food, so we decided to take the kids to a restaurant for dinner so we could all enjoy each other's company.

We are lucky, aren't we, that we can do that?

After an enjoyable meal, we stopped at a nearby convenience store to get some milk for the next morning's breakfast cereal.

Zachary is 9 (and a half, he says) now, and keeps testing out his independance, so he asked if he could go into the store on his own and get the milk.  We were parked directly in front of the store, so we gave him the money and sent him in.

Seated in front of the store was a young man, homeless. Holding a tattered cardboard sign that said "Broke, Homeless & Hungry. Please spare some change. Thank you and God Bless". Oh, my heart.  I hate seeing that. I wondered what his story is.

Some people walked by without a look, some placed some money in the worn and ragged hat that he was using as a collection bowl. He always said a quiet thank you to all those who gave him money.

I watched for a bit, and was planning to give him some money when Zachary came back with the change.

From the back of the van I could hear Corbett trying to read out the sign, but he was struggling a bit, due to the folds in the cardboard. I let him continue, because I wasn't really sure I was ready to delve into that conversation with my 6 year old yet.

Zachary walked out of the store and as he slid open the side door of the van, he saw the man.  He stopped for a bit, then jumped in the van.

"Why doesn't that man have a home?"

There are lots of reasons that someone might not have a home, its complicated buddy.

"He's hungry. He needs food.  Where is he going to get the food from, if he doesn't have a home?"

He's asking people to give him money so that he can buy food

"But he doesn't need money, he needs food."

Well, food costs money.

"I know."

So, Jordan looked at me and I said "Yes, he needs food"

Attached to the convenience store we were at is a Tim Horton's.  Jordan and Zachary got out of the van, walked into the Tim Horton's, and walked out with a large, fresh sandwich. It was that easy.

Zachary went to the man, and handed him the sandwich. At first, the look on his face was shock. 

Then, the biggest smile I have ever seen. "Thank you, young man, Thank you!"

The sign was put aside, his worn hat tucked away beside him.  By the time Zachary and Jordan were back in the van, half the sandwich was gone.
As we backed away, he waved to us, ever so slightly. Jordan and I fought back tears most of hte way home

People can debate how to "deal" with the homeless all they want. How to help them, should we help them. There are enough programs or there aren't enough programs.

But that doesn't matter.

My 9 year old boy, saw a man was hungry, so he brought him food.
He saw an immediate need and he met it. He didn't want someone who was hungry to have to wait until he had enough money to buy food. He wanted him to have it now. So he made it happen.

We can't fix the homeless problem with one person, on one day. But we can sure make a difference in the day of someone. The world needs more of that.  People helping people just because they need it.  No analzying why, or what the ramifications are.  Just helping.

Our kids have seen us help friends who had fallen on hard times.  They have watched us receive help from friends and family when we were expereincing hard times.

That Zachary was able to translate that to helping a person he doesn't even know, makes me so incredibly proud.

Jes

Sharon Says

Remember that game we used to play as kids? Simon Says?
One kid would be Simon, and would call out instructions, but you only follow those instructions if they say "Simon says" first.  If they didn't say "Simon says" and you followed the instructions, you were "OUT".

Well, it turns out, even as an adult I'm still playing the game.  Only now its Sharon Says.

If you haven't ever acquainted yourself with Sharon DeVellis, (aka Speed Skating Mom, aka @SharonDV), then you should do that.  Follow her on twitter.  Check her out at www.speedskatingmom.com

Not NOW, I'm talking to you.  Pay attention to me.  Go see Sharon later.

Last spring, Sharon sent out a call on twitter for people to join in on the Warrior Dash. Now, I was already thinking of doing it, but needed a buddy.  I like to do things with buddies.  It makes me happier when I can share the experience. 

My friend Sherry asked me about it one day and before she could finish saying "Warrior Dash" I was like "LETS DOOO IT!". (The look on Sherry's face was "Oh SHIT, what have I DONE?")
So I tweeted Sharon and told her we were coming.  Despite several attempts, Sharon and I kept passing each other, but then, by sheer fluke, I saw her leaping across the fire pits.  I actually got to meet someone from Twitter.  Which was wicked. And awesome. Wickedly Awesome. There is a picture of us together somewhere.  I cant find it though, so instead, I present you with a picture of me leaping over fire.

I am so BADASS!

Anyway, Sharon is all about going outside of your comfort zone, embracing your fears, and showing them who's boss. 

I really admire that about her.  I'm a lot like that, too.  Except I am not about to embrace the fear of snakes.  Those f$%&ers can stay the hell away from me. But, I digress.

Sharon says she hates running.  But she runs.  Its good cross training for her speed skating.

When Sharon sent out a tweet earlier this year, asking who was joining her for a 10K run in Mississauga, I am pretty sure she didn't actually think that I would sign up.  I mean, its not like I live that close. But here's my not-so-secret secret.  While Sharon is all about being outside of your comfort zone, I am all about the crazy.  If its a crazy idea, or if it has a gimmick, I AM ALL IN.

So was it crazy to drive all the way to Mississauga from Sudbury to participate in a 10k race?  Yep.  Was I in? Oh.  Hells. Yah.

Here we are, myself @karmasdogma, my friend Denise (I told you I like bringing buddies along), and Sharon. (My Mom was there too, but she is taking the picture).

Anyway, all this long-windedness is to say that Sharon is all about trying new experiences. Even if they scare the crap out of you.

I look at it this way. If my kids see me tackling things that make me nervous, then they will emulate that behaviour too.  And really, that's a win-win situation.

So, I am going to try karate. You know, a sport where people want to punch and kick me. For fun.

Beacause I am all about the crazy. And because Sharon Says.

The Next Great Adventure

Well, there I go.  I've done it.

I'm running a Marathon.  Soon-ish.

On September 23rd, I will run a whole 42.2k (yes, in one day) at the Montreal Rock N Roll Marathon.

My friend Denise and I are running it together.  She's run two marathons already, so she is like my spiritual guide in this process of craziness.

So, naturally, we started a blog about it.

Make sure to go check us out at Deux Crazy Anglophones.  That's where we plan to post the updates on our training, anecdotes about our crazy adventures, and updates on our fundraising for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.

So go on!  Check it out!  What are you waiting for?

I gotta go run....

Jes

Faster than the blink of an eye.

.08 seconds

eight-one hundredths of a second.

Faster than the blink of an eye-- (which apparently takes between three-tenths and four-tenths of a second)

That's all that seperates me from officially saying I made my goal of running my first 10k in 1 hour or less.

Or is it?

Unless I'm trying to qualify for the Olympics, does that fraction of a second really count?  Sometimes I think it does.  After all, my whole life has been setting goals for myself, then batting them out of the park.  It's not that I set my goals too low, either. I just work really, really hard.

But the truth is,  8/100ths of a second DOESN'T matter. 

I can hash the details out all I want.  If only, I hadn't stopped to visit the port a potty. If only I hadn't spent 1km of the race crying after one lady, seeing the picture of my Aunt Helen on my back, said "I'll run for her too!", If only I had started my finishing kick, a second earlier.

It doesn't matter.

This is what matters:

I showed up for my first ever 10k event.  I forgot my Garmin. I ran exactly the race I wanted, in eaxactly the time I wanted, with absolutely no pace bunny, or Garmin. It was all me.

I ran in memory of my Aunt Helen, in the city she lived in.  I know she is the reason that earlier in the day, Denise and I took a wrong turn and ended up at the place she is buried.  I have no idea how to get there otherwise, so clearly, she was calling us to there.  When we realized we were headed wrong way, I said "Ok, I'll turn around at the next lights". When we got to those lights, we were right at the cemetary. I think she just wanted to wish me good luck.

My friend and frequent running partner Denise was waiting for me at the finish line, after running a PB of 54:47.

My twitter friends @karmasdogma and @SharonDV met us there and ran as well.  We laughed and chatted like we've known each other forever. We all waited at the finish line for each other, because that's what friends do.

Together, we found my Mom, who came with us for support and to be our Sherpa.  She hugged and congratulated us all, even though we were sweaty and stinky, because that's what Moms do.

These are the things I know to be true:

I will never win a race.  I will never win my age group.

Everytime I show up at a race I am successful. Everytime I finish I'm a winner. 

1:00:08, is just as good as 1:00:00.

 Aunt Helen and I, before the race.

Me, @karmasdogma, Denise and @SharonDV after the race.

Thank goodness my underwear was clean.

All I wanted was a new pair of jeans.  Something that fit, was flattering and comfortable.  Not too much to ask, really.

Right?  Right.

I rarely, if ever get the opportunity shop without my boys, so as  usual, they tagged along with me.

 Now, first of all, let me make one thing clear.  I very much dislike shopping.  Especially for clothes.

VERY. MUCH.

But, it really is in the best interests of the general population if I wear clothes, so clothes shopping is like my civic duty.

You're welcome.

Anyway, I went to the first store, and selected two pair. One was a dark jean with a flared leg, the other a skinny jean.  Skinny jeans don't always work for me, because as a runner, I have well defined calves.  I was also blessed with gigantic strong thighs, so sometimes those trendy skinny jeans look plain funny.

I tried on the first pair, and they were just okay.  Putting them aside, I hade high hopes for the skinny jeans, and I was RIGHT.  They looked great, the price was great.  YAY!  One stop and I had found jeans.  That's like a frickin' miracle!

Then I tried to take the jeans off. And they stopped at my calves.  I tugged.  I pulled.  Nothing worked.

I sat on my butt on a dirty change room floor, and yanked some more.  Nothing.

I was so confused.  They felt great, they looked great, they went on easy.  SO WHY THE HELL WEREN'T THEY COMING OFF?

Clearly, I needed help. So, swallowing any pride that I had, I pulled on the jeans and walked out of the changeroom.

Saleslady: "Wow, those look GREAT!"

Me: "I'm stuck"

Saleslady: "Pardon?"

Me: "I can't get them off.  I can't get them past my calves. I don't understand, they went on so easily."

Saleslady: "Oh. Oh wow."

Me: "This is crazy, but I need help"

So, the saleslady and I went into the wheelchair accessible changeroom.  I yanked the jeans down to my knees, and sat on the bench, while she yanked really, really hard. We laughed, because really - WHAT THE HECK ELSE COULD WE DO?

Saleslady: "So, I guess you aren't taking these?"

Me: "No, I think I'll pass.  Um, thanks"

Your mother is right.  Always wear clean underwear.  But another important piece of information.

I am SO glad I wasn't wearing a thong.

UPDATED: I just had a crazy thought.  I really hope that she was a sales lady and not a customer. Otherwise the whole situation is a whole lot weirder than it already was.

Zachary Valiquette, Green Belt

 Zachary is one tired boy after the testing is completed.  Now, he waits.

 Receiving his belt from Sensei Angelo

 Shaking hands with, and accepting congratulations from Shihan Don Benoit.

 Zachary tying on his new belt!

A whole lot of happy, tired kids and their instructors.

Letting Go.

I am posting this today, because there are a few people I know who (I think), really need to hear it. The words are not mine, but I can't say it better, so I won't even try.

SHE LET GO.

She let go.

Without a thought or a word, she let go.

She let go of fear. She let go of the judgments.
She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming
around her head.

She let go of the committee of indecision within her.
She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons. Wholly and completely,
without hesitation or worry, she just let go.

She didn’t ask anyone for advice. She didn’t read a
book on how to let go... She didn’t search the scriptures.
She just let go.

She let go of all of the memories that held her back.
She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward.
She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.

She didn’t promise to let go.
She didn’t journal about it.
She didn’t write the projected date in her day-timer.

She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper.
She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope.
She just let go.

She didn’t analyse whether she should let go.
She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter.
She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment.
She didn’t call the prayer line.
She didn’t utter one word. She just let go.

No one was around when it happened.
There was no applause or congratulations.
No one thanked her or praised her.
No one noticed a thing.
Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.

There was no effort. There was no struggle.
It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad.
It was what it was, and it is just that.

In the space of letting go, she let it all be.
A small smile came over her face.
A light breeze blew through her.
And the sun and the moon shone forevermore.”

- Ernest Holmes

Embracing my klutziness, celebrating my accomplishments, accepting my frustrations, choosing happiness.

As I type this, I am resting on my comfy leather loveseat, resting uncomfortably.

Ironic, I know.

Let's back this up a bit. I've always been uncoordinated. REALLY uncoordinated. Most stories of my falls and injuries start with, "So, I was walking....".
I laugh it up, but sometimes it's embarrassing.

My klutziness is accentuated by the injuries I suffered years ago in a major car accident. I am mostly healed, but with any trauma like that, I am definitely not 100%, and likely never will be. This means that some injuries are easily aggravated.

So it was that I found myself sitting in my Chiropractor's office on Thursday, with neck pain and muscle spasms so bad that I couldn't lift my head. It was stuck looking down and to the right.

"What did you DO?" he asked me.

And so I told my spectacular story.

"I was driving my van, and I looked to the right to check my blind spot. That's it."

Seriously. All I did was look to the right and now I can barely hold my head up independently. Can you imagine how frustrating that is for me? I mean I run half marathons, I did the Warrior Dash! I'm having a hard time walking, let alone lacing up for a run.

This kinda sucks, people.

But, here's the thing. I'm not gonna let it get me down. I can't change the fact that sometimes my body will take a vacation, because to be completely fair, I have asked my body to do a whole hell of a lot for me, and it's come through for me in spades.

So for now, I am reclined uncomfortably in my leather love-seat, laughing at my klutziness, celebrating the fact that my body does so much more than people ever thought it would, and accepting that it's ok to be frustrated.

And when my neck feels better......you can find me outside (rain or shine), my running shoes laced up, my feet pounding the pavement, celebrating everything I CAN do.

The tattoo on my side says "Happiness is a choice". It's my motto. The driving force of how I live my life. I can't change what happens to me, but I CAN choose the attitude with which I face the bumps in the road. So I choose happiness.

Because, you know what? I am SO blessed.

Future Rock Star?

Zachary had a school project recently to make an instrument from everyday household items, and it needed to produce sound.

After some discussion, he decided that he wanted to make a guitar.  He thought about a few ways he could go about this, but eventually settled on using a shoe box, and papier mache.

I helped a bit, particularly with the parts involving a knife, but otherwise he was on his own, and he did a great job!

I really hope he gets a great mark, because he worked SO hard at this, and put a lot of thought and effort into it.

What do you think?

 The finished product!

Jessica

The weight of the world

Mental Illness.

It's terrible, isn't it?  I have an enormous amount of respect for the people who live with it. Many people I love struggle with some form, but it is a struggle I can only begin to imagine.

On February 8th, Bell hosted Let's Talk day, and I think it's a fabulous step.  We shouldn't have to work to remove the shame of mental illness.  People with mental illnesses should absolutely be able to live their lives without feeling shame that they have an illness. We need to yell from the rooftops that it's OK!  You don't have to be ashamed. The people I know that suffer from this illness inspire me beyond words.


Mental Illness is like any other disease.  Sufferers should have the ability to disclose or withold the nature of their illness, as they see fit.  We all need to learn to be more supportive and try to be more understanding. Because it's hard isn't it? Those who don't suffer from mental illness can't truly understand what its like.  But we can accept. 


But that's not what I feel the need to write about. Instead, let's talk for a minute about the ones left behind. The ones who are holding it together. The foundation, if you will. It seems, to me at least, that we are often forgotten.


We are the person who sits at home or work, wondering how to "fix" the person they love.  The ones who desperately try to make it seem to the outside world as if everything is ok. Who put their needs aside, because they are terrified, terrified of what may come if they let their guard down for even an instant. The ones who may be struggling with the weight of it all, but believe that if they let go, even a little bit, that the person they're supporting will collapse. The ones who are walking on eggshells because they don't want to be a trigger.


Mental illness doesn't just affect the person who is afflicted, it affects everyone in their circle.  Family, friends, co-workers. Damage is done, and it can't be undone.  The hurts and wounds can be forgiven. Forgiveness is easy because we know that our loved one - who is so desperately trying to get better - has absolutely no intent to hurt you.  It's easy to forgive.

But it's not forgotten. It can't be undone.

You're left wondering, when you are the support, the foundation, the glue.....who's going to hold it together for YOU? The foundation of a house is only as solid as the ground it sits on.


And it's hard.  Really hard. Because here's the thing.  When you suffer from a mental illness, it's your illness, your symptoms, your story to share or tell. Or not.


But when you love, support and are trying to help someone with mental illness find their way, their illness is a great big part of your story,  but it's a part that isn't yours to tell.


To tell of the actions they have taken, or the thoughts they have shared, feels like, is, a betrayal.  You're so afraid that other people's perceptions of your loved one will change, because quite likely, the things you could tell them, WILL change perceptions. We're only human after all.

It's not always this hard. Somedays you know you can do it, other are filled with doubt.

So here's my request. If you know someone who suffers from mental illness, be accepting, forgiving and supportive.  And if you know someone who is their main support system, call them up, take them for a coffee, and ask them how they're doing. Let them know that you are there to prop them up when they need it.  Be their solid ground. Because often it feels like you are carrying the weight of the world.  And the weight of the world can cause stress fractures in your soul.

That's Love.

I don't just hate snakes.  I'm terrified of them.  Absolutely terrified. If I see even a picture of a snake, I get all sweaty and my heart speeds up.

I don't know why,  its not as though I was ever attacked by a snake.  Or that a snake has wronged me in some way.

Its just that they are so.....wrong. They've got no legs, and they still move around the ground. Wrong.

Anyway, last year Jordan and I took the kids to see the travelling version of Little Ray's Reptile Zoo. For the record, it is a pretty cool set up.  They bring these cool reptiles and animals, and the teach the kids about them. The kids get to pet them.  Fun, fun.

Last year, they even had a masturbating lemur.  Let me tell you, THAT was awkward.

But they also have snakes. Stupid, dumb snakes.

And of course, the kids wanted to go again. Hooray.

Last year I was able to hide behind my husband when they brought the stupid Boa Constrictor out. There are many reasons why its handy to have a 6'4" husband, and one of those is the ability to completely hide behind him.  Because we all know, if I can't see the snake, it can't see me.  Right? Right?

Well hubby was working this time. So it was all me....

So off we go to the event, which is in a hotel.  A HOTEL. Thats charming. Let me tell you now, if I was every in a hotel and found out a travelling snake exhibit was sharing lodgings with me......I would be demanding protection.

It costs $10 a ticket, which frankly I find pricey for a kids ticket, but whatever.  The kids want to see reptiles and I want the Mom of the Year award.

So in we go, and we get to see turtles and a great big alligator and snakes.  But get this, the kids refuse to pet the snakes.  Or any animal for that matter. 

Well I will be damned if I'm paying $30 for tickets to see a reptile petting zoo and no one's touching the snake. Hell, I didnt even get to see a masturbating lemur this year! Now it was enough that I managed to summon up enough bravery to go to the damn thing with out my "husband suit of armour", so I sure as hell wasn't touching the snake.

So I bribed the children.  Yep, bribery.  Mother of the Year, here I come.

There were these stuffed snakes that the kids wanted, and I told them they were too expensive. But not too expensive for bribery!! 

"Okay kids, if you go pet the snake, Mommy will buy you each a stuffed snake!"

Zoom, off they go!  I got pictures of the kids petting the snakes. The kids got their stuffed snakes.

I got to leave.

Win/Win, don't you think?

Reticulated Python.  Her name is Marshmallow.

Caiman

 Corbett and Zachary being eaten by a dinosaur

"Losing" his first tooth. And his second. Finally.

Dear Corbett:

How exciting!  You’ve not only lost your first tooth, but your second tooth as well!  I’ve sure been waiting a long time for those teeth.  They’ve been loose forever!

I noticed that you were a very brave boy at the Dentist’s office while she pulled your teeth.  Good job!

As I told your brother when he lost his first tooth, the first tooth is special, so I am leaving you $5.00 for it. For every other tooth, you will get $1.00.

Thanks for being such a brave boy!

Love ,

My baby no more?

Baby Boy!

Corbett was born with very little hair.  And it grew slow. SLOOOW.  On his second birthday, we took him for a haircut, not because he needed it, but because I grew impatient of waiting for that milestone.

Two Years Old

Anyway, his hair continued to grow, and the curls began to show.  And boy, did he have curls.  Beautiful curls.

Three Years Old

Those curls have garnered him much attention and won him plenty of "get out of jail free"cards.

"Ladies love me because I have curly hair"

But, he hates having it combed. It is very fine hair and it knots so easily. The tears were too much.  I have always said that I would never argue with my kids about hair.  Its just hair.  You want a mohawk?  Fine.  Blue hair? Even better.

Its just hair.

But, but, but...

Corbett's curls? Gorgeous.

He asked a while ago, to cut it, so we took him.  When the hair dresser asked what he wanted, he told her he wanted the back and sides long still, but the front bang shorter.  He was happy with that.  For a while.

On Tuesday, at his hair appointment, Corbett asked for short hair. The hairdresser looked at me, questioningly, and I replied, "It's his hair, his choice".

So she cut. 

And she cut some more.  If I was an emotional person, I might have shed a tear or two.  Instantly, as the hair fell away, my baby boy,  my precious, last born--grew up.  The child whose pregnancy was so miserable, but in contrast brings so much joy.  He was growing older, instantly, before my eyes. It was like watching one of those videos where you see a person age before your eyes.

I sent a text to my husband.

Me: Corbett is getting it cut short.
Him: Nooooooooo (He is the more emotional one.  I knew he'd be sad to see the curls go)
Me: Yes (followed by this picture)

Corbett LOVES his new haircut.  He no longer has to endure the combing sessions he hates so much.  I am happy for him, I truly am.  And he looks very handsome.  I admit that I miss the curls, but they were never mine to have. If he ever wants too, he can grow them back.

But, he grew up, right before my eyes.  And that?  Oh, my heart.

(this picture is not the best picture of his new 'do, but it is the first one,  I will post better pics next time)

Six Years Old.

Thank you. Thank you very much!

If you haven't read the previous post yet, you may want to do that. 

January 8th came and Corbett was still nestled safely in my womb with no plans on exiting. (For the record, he still operates on his own schedule.)

We headed to the midwifery office for noon, and she checked me out.  I was about 1cm dilated as I had been for a few days.  She did a stretch and sweep - (gee THAT'S fun)- and about 10 minutes later, I felt a couple mild contractions.

Feeling that we could probably get labour started we planned to head over to the hospital,  so we could try to induce labour, without drugs.  She let me know, that if a body is ready to go into labour, that a breast pump can induce labour.  How frickin' cool is THAT!?

We called my best friend Micheline, who had agreed to assist again, and let her know we'd call her once things got started.

After a much calmer drive to the hospital, I was admitted, and the great big double breast pump was brought forth.  It was scary, but it worked. By 1:30 contractions started slowly, but with strength.  Jordan and I walked.  Jordan and I talked. Jordan and I ate.  We joked that Corbett would likely share a birthday with Elvis Presley.  I declined to give him Elvis as a middle name. It was weird. It was much more relaxed than my labour with Zachary.

In fact, it was so relaxed, that when Jordan heard the Air Ambulance preparing to take off, he grabbed the camera and went charging down the hallway to get pictures of it out the window. I was in the middle of a very strong contraction. Stand back ladies, he's ALL mine.

Micheline arrived, and at this point contractions were pretty regular and intense.  I could never really find a comfortable position, because Corbett wouldn't stay still.  Although he was head down, he kept spinning around like a break dancer.  He was face up, face down, face sideways.  He did this the whole way through delivery.  In hindsight, this should have told us about our new baby's character.

Finally, I allowed them to break my water.  It had been offered to me twice as a way to speed things along, but I had declined.  Since my car accident in 1991, I have experienced a lot of necessary medical intervention, so I quite stubbornly tend to avoid it when its not necessary.

So my water was broken and soon I had to push.  There were no difficulties.  I tell people that an easy delivery was due to me after that pregnancy.  I know that it was just luck of the draw.

On January 8th, 2006, at 6:54pm , after just over 5 hours of labour, Corbett Peter Valiquette was born weighing 7 pounds, 13 ounces. He had very little hair, and what was there was so fine and fair it was barely visible. It was nine days after his due date. 

Yes, Zachary and Corbett were born on each other's due date.

Despite my persistent fears that my illness and all the drugs I had taken for it would harm him in some way, he was absolutely perfect.  I had been so afraid that I wouldn't love him or bond with him.  That even though he was so very wanted, that I would resent him for all the illness.

He took my breath away.  I cried tears of relief, because the pregnancy was over.  My baby was here, and we were both okay.

I knew then that all the trouble the pregnancy had caused me had been worth it.  It didn't make it any easier, but it made it worthwhile. 

Today Corbett is still full of spunk.  He's a firecracker.  His name means Raven. Jordan, Zachary and I all have dark, almost raven coloured hair. Corbett has curly, sandy coloured hair.  Its gorgeous. Everyone loves it and he knows it.  In fact, he has said "Ladies love me because I have curly hair".

And its true.  That curly hair helps him get away with a lot of mischief!

But more importantly, Corbett, everyone loves you. They love you because you are caring, energetic and funny.  You love to be with people, are quick with a smile (usually a mischevious one), and always giving hugs. Eternally optimistic and smart as can be , you just don't understand why things don't always go your way. You absolutely adore your big brother. Your wit and charm are unmistakeable, and I couldn't be prouder to call you my son.  I have no doubt that you will attain your 5th birthday wish for "FOURTEEN GIRLFRIENDS"

I just hope you wait.


Love,

Mom

                                                              Photo by PhotoCaptiva

Sometimes, pregnancy sucks.

Today is the day before Corbett turns 6.  This post is decidedly less wistful than the posts I wrote about Zachary.  But it is a story that deserves telling, because Corbett is loved, and his story is equally important to tell, even though its less "pretty".

Jordan and I always knew that we would want to have another child if that was what fate had in store for us.  We didn't have a set idea on how far apart our kids should be, or any other such plans.  We just figured that when it was time for #2, we would know.


I also knew that pregnancy hadn't been all that pleasant or "easy" for me.  I wasn't quite sure when I would be ready to put myself through that again.


Two years old.  It was shortly before Zachary's 2nd birthday when we found ourselves saying :Now.  Now our family is ready to grow."  Although these things are never truly in our control, we knew we wanted to avoid another December baby. 


Let's face it, December is a bit baby heavy in our families.  Apparently everyone needs a little extra lovin' in March.  My twin brother and I were born December 5th, Jordan's birthday is Deccember 8th, and his sisters are December 19th and 28th.  Follow that up with Zachary's birthday on December 30th, and it gets a little crazy here!  On top of all that, there's Christmas and several friends with December birthdays.


So we were hoping for a fall baby.  I became pregnant quickly, but from the moment I knew I was pregnant, I also knew I wouldn't be for long.  I don't know why I knew.  I just did.


Still, I scheduled an appointment with our midwife, trying to think positive. That's what I do.  I think positive.  The day of my appointment came, and I woke up to some spotting.  Damn, I thought. Damn.  I mentioned it to the midwife and she said all the right things, that spotting is normal, etc.


A due date of late September was set.  3 hours later, at 8 weeks pregnant, I miscarried.  Its funny how sometimes you just know these things.  Jordan was at work, and I didnt even call him.  His job can be dangerous, and he was working graveyard shift, so I just didnt want him to worry. Besides, what could he do?

I went home and had dance party with my two year old.  Because its really hard to be sad when you're dancing with a two year old.


We tried again, and lo-and behold, at the beginning of May, learned we were pregnant. Yep, thats right, the beginning of May.  My due date?  December 30th.  Zachary's 3rd birthday.

Well played, fate.  Hardy har.

 
My pregnancy with Zachary was tough.  This one?  It pains me to say, but it sucked.  I hated it. By 8 weeks, I knew I could never handle pregnancy again.  At 9 weeks, I was hospitalized with severe dehydration. At 12 weeks, it hadn't stopped.  Nor at 13 weeks. 


With this pregnancy, I was ill a minimum of 10 times a day, quite frequently as many as 25 times. I was diagnosed with Hyperemesis Gravidarum.

If you've not experienced this, you can really only begin to imagine.  To manage through the day, I took diclectin, gravol,and had a careful schedule of eating and drinking.  I could not eat and drink at the same time.  I couldn't drink more than about 2-3 ounces of liquid at a time. Just the sensation of liquid sloshing in my stomach, would make me ill. At least 30 minutes had to pass between eating and drinking.


This carried on from 6 weeks to 14 weeks, when out of desperation, I tried accupuncture.  "What the hell", I said, "it can't get much worse".  It helped.  Big time. After two treatments, I was only throwing up about 5 times a day.  Still, a lot, but far better for me and my baby.  Around the same time, we also discovered the foods that my stomach handled best.


1)Plain McDonald's Cheeseburgers - Nothing else.  Not home made. Not Wendy's or Burger King.  It had to have cheese too.  A hamburger wouldn't do.

2)Tim Horton's Honey Dip Donuts

3)Plain popcorn

I ate those 3 things, and ONLY those 3 things for 6 weeks. Finally, at about 21 weeks, the puking stopped.  I woke up with no nausea and wondered what the hell was wrong with me.  I was scared our baby had died, but then thankfully, he kicked me, hard. I`m still here Mom, he was saying.


The rest of the pregnancy went as most pregnancies do, but I was quite weak.  I can`t say I enjoyed the rest of the pregnancy, but I definitely didn`t hate it anymore. It still makes me sad to say I hated pregnancy, but there you have it.  I won`t lie.  Pregnancy and I just aren`t friends.


Despite the rocky start, Corbett (we knew he was a boy) kept growing well, and was looking to be a bigger baby than his brother.  My due date came and went. Not only did this baby make me ridiculously sick, he was now making me wait!! 


Finally on January 5th, my midwife and I had a conversation about Corbett`s arrival or lack thereof.  My parents were on vacation in Morocco.  My brother had to head back home to Toronto on the 7th. My close friends were moving to Toronto on the 6th. My parents were returning sometime around the 9th or 10th. We were running out of people to look after Zachary if I went into labour. And given the speedy labour with Zachary, we needed a plan.

"Well, how does January 8th work for you?" she asked.

"That works just fine", I said.

So it was decided that if Corbett hadn't made his entrance into the world by January 8th, 2006, we would coax him along. 

We had a plan.

Tomorrow: Thank you. Thank you very much!

12 things for '12

It has been a crazy, crazy few years.  I know everyone says that, but for serious....its been nuts.
Once Jordan was laid off at the beginning of 2009, my life went into overdrive, and I took every opportunity I could to keep the family afloat financially, continued to work on my schooling, etc. The year or two before that was no picnic either, but that's another story for another day.

Although the hours I work are less, and Jordan has been back to work for a year, life is still crazy. And there have been costs, to my personal life and contentment.

As an example, it has been four years since I had any kind of extended time off.  The most time off in a row I've had in a row has been four days (once).  And that included a Saturday and Sunday. I'm not complaining, just stating the facts.

Now, don't get me wrong.  Although the situation we were in was unfortunate, we were extremely lucky that the opportunities that came my way, did.  I have still tried to make time for me to do the things I wanted, specifically, running, but it does come at a cost.  I have no downtime, ever. I am definitely working towards burning out, and I plan to fix that.

So without further delay, these are the twelve things I plan to do this year, to help me reach the goal of less stress, and more me time.

1) Get our debt under control.  You can imagine with a two year lay-off of the family breadwinnner that our savings (thankfully we had what we did) diminished and our credit was heavily relied on.  Time to take steps to fix that.

2)Paint Corbett's room.  I promised him that I would do it almost two years ago.  Everytime I put him to bed, I am reminded that I still need to do it. Also, he keeps asking, so obviously its something he really wants.

3) Learn to knit. This will give me something productive to do when I am sitting for many hours at a karate dojo, waiting for the kids.  Also, it is an activity that requires focus (no multitaksing), and that is something I have to work on. I am not too good at taking time to sit still and do one thing.

4) Spend a day doing nothing.  NOTHING.

5) Run 5km in under 28 minutes.

6) Play with the kids more. More specifically, kicks their butts at XBox and/or Wii

7) Do the CN Tower Edge Walk, with my Mom.

8) Find someway to let the friends and family who have helped us in so many way just how much we appreciate them. This is probably impossible, but I am sure going to try.

9) Take a week off. A whole week. At once. 

10) Blog more

11) Find more opportunities to play flute

12) Go to Canada's Wonderland, without kids and ride every roller coaster. Scream and laugh for each one.

So that's it.  Sometimes it seems overwhelming. Sometimes it seems like it will be easy.  But mark my words....I WILL do it!