Tuesday, December 09, 2008

Ahhh yes. Ho ho ho and so on. I saw a massive blow-up Santa on display at my local Target and it continually was falling over and "attacking" people as they walked past. When it was set right, I noticed a sign that said "Buy me, I'm only 79.99" and I thought, "Now there is the true meaning of Christmas."

I find myself battling more and more with what Christmas is. Let's face it, Christmas is about the presents. It is about getting and giving. We've heard the same 5 Christmas songs done in rock version, and in folk version, and in hip-hop, and alternative, and then back to rock so many times that we don't even hear the words...not that it would mean much to us if we did...(Consider "Silent Night"? Would a 13 year old girl really be delivering a baby silently and calmly? Hard to imagine.)

It's time to face up to the fact that Christmas is more about the $79.99 killer attack Santa than it is about Jesus.

Christmas is one of the only times that we talk about Emmanuel, one of my favourite names for God. It means "God with us". I get a little choked up even now writing about it. I can't help but remember the story of Hagar, who wept as she had been given to her master by her mistress to bear a child. Dutifully she bore a son. She was then cast out in an unloving manner by the pair that had done it. In her agony God came to her. He was her Emmanuel.

So even now as expectations run high for Christmas-you know, the happy family, the good feelings, food, and pressies- while depression is rampant and disappointment is high, Emmanuel is here. He cried, and was overwhelmed. He was disappointed by friends and had nothing. God with us.

But I can't help but feel that this Emmanuel has very little to do with the 79.99 killer attack Santa (just an hilarious side note, it was once pointed out to me that by jumbling the letters of Santa you come up with...well "satan")

Our Emmanuel did not come for us to have presents, but to have life. Sometimes it's easy to get that confused.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008


While I have a few seconds, I'm going to discuss the fate of my second. Sadly, my daughter came second. I wish that both of my children could have been first. I wish both could get me all to themselves, get carried around all the time, have nap time on mommy, and get all my energies. Sadly, the second gets the exhausted, half glazed, yet still loving eye of her parents. She doesn't get picked up the minute she cries, and her nap times must be taken alone. Since her brother can run faster and climb higher he gets more attention than she (for right now) and sadly has to lay on the floor alone while mommy "saves" her brother yet again from some dangerous and/or disastrous situation.

I suppose in some ways, coming second has it's benefits. She has more people to get in her face, and she has a built in play partner. She has an older brother to fight for her and fight with her. She has someone to show her the ropes and, hopefully, a lifetime friend.

So, while her mother may forget her birthday, she has a big brother. And that might just make up for it.

Thursday, November 06, 2008

the fashionister

At 2 and a half my son has very definite tastes about what he wears...he even has definite opinions about what I wear. Yesterday he began his day in leiderhausen, then we changed him into his "work" suit, and finished off the day in a T-shirt with shorts. When he's not wandering the streets in a bathrobe with jeans and gumboots, he's donning his batman jammies that are very nearly too small. But his most favoured attire is a Spiderman costume that he received from some friends. He wears this suit until it is so covered in dirt that it is barely recognizable as Spiderman. Not only is his Spiderman suit great looking, it also adorns with him magical powers. He is now able to "shoot" webs from his hands. He has climbed great heights, and not even our 6 ft. fence out back was able to deter him from greeting our neighbours (who, needlessly, to say were quite surprised to see his fuzzy little head peeking over the fence.)
I love it that his hero is a good guy and saves people. I don't know what I'd do if his super hero was Doc Oc...but is it to much ask for a super hero who takes naps, doesn't throw his food on the floor, and doesn't hit his friends on the head?

Monday, November 03, 2008

Babies and death

I have been reminded again about the fragility of life. As more and more friends are losing babies, either by miscarriage or "freak genetic accidents" I find myself filled with the "why God" dilemma. While my son was ill, I took comfort in knowing that God was big and capable. I was able to rest in His love. It didn't mean that seeing my tiny little son sick with tubes everywhere didn't hurt more than childbirth, it just meant that the God of the universe was aching with me. And I rest in knowing that my good friend whose baby died due to a "freak genetic accident" is also not grieving alone. And my many friends who have "miscarried" (such a crappy term for the death of a baby) don't grieve alone either.
But, since the abortion bill legalizing abortion up to 24 weeks for any reason was passed, I am wondering more and more about why God would take the children that are wanted. Why are so many wanted babies dying? Why would He allow/cause this to happen? He is the one solely in control of the lives of these little ones and yet they are perishing and He does nothing...but weep. Forgive me God, but I don't want tears, I want these babies back. It feels so unfair that He has allowed abortions, but has taken the lives of so many babies that are loved by their parents. Children should not die. Caskets should not be made any smaller than 5 feet long, there should not be in existence a Children's Hospital, refuge, or safe-house. Children should be safe and loved, and be able to live from conception. So this is my petition to a God whom I KNOW loves us, Thank you for sharing our grief, but can we have Oliver, Amelie, Peme, Little McNaughton, and Tiny Rushworth back please?

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Zoolander In Real Life

I have been thinking a lot about appearance lately. Since having baby 2, I was hoping that since I am breastfeeding that my weight would fall off, as it seems to for everyone whom I chatted with. It has not been with the case for me, though. I am working harder than ever to lose it, and get fit, but find that the weight is stuck. I was never a person to struggle with weight and so I find quite a challenge to dress my new larger body (how do you dress up a fat suit.) I am truly uncomfortable being the weight that I am, not just in moving it around, but in trying to feel like a woman for my husband.

On the same token, I have read a few articles berating people who become parents. The articles bring up, as an irritation, the "daggy" appearance of these parents. I felt this keenly, as I am one of those "daggy" parents. Many days I have to choose between eating breakfast and showering. Since the benefits of breakfast outweigh the benefits of a shower, I am usually fed, but not "done-up". I regularly feel very self-conscious in my greasy pony-tail and chubby belly, and, with a red face, recall the articles I have read, and am aware that I am simply proving their point.

Then it occured to me, that one of the many beautiful things about being a parent, is gaining the understanding that life is so much bigger than the way you look. There really is so much more to life than being really really ridiculously good looking. (I wrote these wise words on my mirror...)

(Hope you enjoyed reading something new Michelle)

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Valentine's Day

I don't often brag about my husband. It's not often that positive things escape my lips. But I after spending an afternoon with a friend whose heart is hurting over relationship stuff, and making valentine's day cards with friends, I feel overwhelmed with love for him. I couldn't begin to list off all the things that amaze, astound, and ennoble him, but I can make a pathetic beginning. He is an amazing father. He comes home from work and immediately gets into playing with his son. They have a special "teekle" time, as Leif calls it, and also there is some light wrestling involved. Leif giggles for his father like no one else. Chad loves us both, and we are his first priority. He demonstrates this by asking for my opinion on any extra activities.

Chad is an amazing person. He loves and cares for people. When a dear friend of his was going through a divorce, Chad was hurting to heavily that he was ill for a few days. Chad works as a counselor at his school and frequently carries the weight of the many hurts that he hears about. He doesn't say much about it, but it shows on his face, especially when really selfish parents are involved.

Chad is an incredible husband. He brings me flowers on bad days, and lets me lay around when I don't feel great. He cleans the kitchen better than I can, and always helps me hang the laundry when he's home. He works his rear off so we can have enough money to cover our expenses plus some. More importantly than all that, he's gorgeous.

I love my husband. I could write for pages and never say enough.