Well, I’m outta here.
The main reason I moved is that wordpress does not support flash, which is totally lame because that means my artfire shop window doesn’t work (see how’s it empty, off to the right?).
You can now find me at thehappycheerio.blogspot.com.
And yes, it is as cool as it sounds.
Hey guys,
There have been many cool and exciting happenings in my life recently. My awesome husband gave me Sound of Music tickets for my birthday and the lawn chair to end all lawn chairs for my very first Mother’s Day. The clips have been selling well in my community and online. My little darling is thisclose to walking and already standing a bit on her own now and then.
And. I bought a Roomba.
Yes, the iRobot vacuum.
We have been in the market for a vacuum for a while and weren’t having any luck. See, nowadays, consumers have the benefits of online reviews before they buy. So I’ve been researching every brand–Bissell, Hoover, Miele, you name it–and every type–bags, bagless, canister, upright. And from what I’ve been reading, it’s a total crapshoot. One reviewer sings a vacuum’s praises and gives it 5 stars, the next says it lasts just long enough for the warranty to expire and gives it 1 star. This is true of every vacuum I looked at, except one: the Dyson. Cyber wisdom seems to say go Dyson or go home. Well I’d rather go home with my $600 still in my pocket. So, what to do? That’s when Canadian Tire decided for me by putting the Roomba on sale. $269 from $369–more than $100 off when you consider tax. $269 isn’t that bad, I figure, since that’s what you’ll pay for a decent canister vac anyway–plus I don’t have to vacuum! The Roomba reviews are mixed like all the others, but they are definitely more on the favourable side–plus I don’t have to vacuum!
Some might say, what’s the big deal with vacuuming? There are some women out there who actually enjoy vacuuming. Vacuum tracks on their carpet take them to their happy place. And more power to them, the nutcases. Those women would not be impressed with a Roomba. Roomba takes his sweet time and mosies about in a seemingly random pattern. A vacuum loving gal would surely turn Roombie off and snap in impatience, “I’ll do it myself!” And then she would.
Me, I would rather clean bathrooms, and that’s saying a lot.
But does it work? So far, so good. Brandon wasn’t as sold as I was when I told him about it, so we put Roombie on trial for a while, being very careful with the packaging and putting the receipt in our “receipt box” (What–you don’t have one?) just in case. Well, after seeing the results, I think, I *think* he’s committed now. 95% anyway. Personally, I think it vacuums better than I ever would, getting into corners with its handy side brush and going over and over a spot until its satisfied. We just had a house full of people yesterday and after leaving the Roomba on after they left and at night while we slumbered, our floors are spotless yet again. Hardwood, carpet, and kitchen tile—it works on them all!
It’s only been 3 days since we bought it, so I won’t go recommending it just yet, but Roomba has made these last 3 days just a little brighter in our house.
Hello all!
After a long hibernation during which I probably lost 95% of my readership, I hope to fully re-enter the world of blogging next week.
Why not this week? Because this week is full of busy festivities for my birthday (the big 2-7!) and my first Mother’s Day, and a bunch of other family stuff. I write this at 7am Saturday morning, before I shower and get ready to work. In a flower shop. The day before Mother’s Day. You heard me. All aboard the crazy train!
See ya on Monday 🙂
Hey guys,
So, I noticed I haven’t posted since . . . March. And I don’t think I’ll be posting again until . . . May. I have my first craft show (well it’s a mom to mom sale, but the same kinda set up) and I’ve been scrambling to get ready. I need a lot of inventory. And the great thing is, whenever I make a bunch of stuff, it sells. Great except that I’m back to where I started for inventory. So I gotta get working. This seriously is turning into a work at home type of deal.
Anyway, sorry for the lameness. I do have more to say. I have some blog posts filed away in my head for a rainy day, but I just can’t justify writing them now. So, go and enjoy the great outdoors of what promises to be a warm second-half-of-April and I’ll see ya when I see ya. In May.
So last night, my church held a viewing of the movie FireProof. Brandon and I were curious about the movie and had heard good things, plus there was free childcare involved, so we went. And our overall impression of the film? Positive. It was really good, sort of in spite of itself.
If you haven’t heard of it, you could probably google it and get a synopsis, but I’ll try to save you the trouble. Caleb and Katherine are a youngish couple that have been married for 7 years. Caleb is a firefighter who is a hero to everyone except his wife. There are various issues in their marriage, and after a big blow out of a fight, they are on the brink of divorce, Katherine saying “I want out.” So Caleb tells his dad they’re getting divorced. And his dad, a new Christian who also went through tough times in his marriage, pleads with him to wait 40 days before signing any papers, and during those 40 days, to complete “The Love Dare.” The Love Dare is a book of day-by-day instructions on things to do for your spouse, such as “Don’t say anything negative to your spouse today. Cook your spouse dinner today.” That sort of thing. Caleb reluctantly agrees to this method of “fireproofing” his marriage, and there you have your premise.
Sounds pretty cheesy, right? And it is sometimes, I’ll grant you. A few corny jokes, a few bits of over or under acting, a few pretty obvious firefighter/marriage metaphors (“You never leave your partner. Especially in a fire.”) And get this—Caleb is played by Kirk Cameron of Growing Pains and (cringe) the Left Behind movies. Oh no! Not another “Christian” movie! Well, hear me out.
I haven’t written much anything about my Christian faith in this blog so far for various reasons. A big reason is that I’m still trying to figure it out, and another big reason is that I don’t want my readers thinking I’m one of *those* Christians. The evangelical, uber-conservative, close-minded, loved-the-Left-Behind-movies kind of Christian. Not that those kinds of Christians are all bad. In fact, I am related to and friends with a few of those. But I don’t agree with them, and that’s not who I am. Anyway, enough with the sidebar here.Yes, FireProof is a little heavy on the evangelical side, but it actually works pretty well with the movie as a whole. More on that later.
I enjoyed/appreciated the following things about the film:
The fight at the beginning, though overacted and escalated a little too quickly, was actually a pretty realistic portrayal of the things married people fight about, how they fight, and the actual words they say. It starts with who ate the last bagel and before you know it, some very ugly accusations and personal attacks are thrown about. Then you realize the fight is not about bagels, but about some issues that have been bubbling and brewing, unresolved, for quite some time.
The Love Dare is difficult and unrewarding. Without giving away the plot, if you expect to see Katherine’s heart being melted a little each day, you will be disappointed (or relieved).
The issues in the marriage are real, and the movie deals with them honestly, but also tastefully. For instance, Caleb has an addiction to internet pornography, but we never see any questionable images or hear any questionable words. It’s not a full-fledged addiction because he can still function in society and doesn’t spend every spare moment on the computer or thinking about when he can get to a computer, but it’s getting dangerously close to a full-fledged addiction, and Katherine knows about it.
Brandon commented that he wasn’t sure the pornography issue should have been in the movie; not because he thought it was inappropriate, but because he wondered if couples watching the movie would think, “Well, neither of us is addicted to anything, so our marriage must be okay.” I see his point; however, I think the fact that the writer/director considered pornography to be a common enough issue to include it in the plot says something pretty big. It’s not the only thing that can break up a marriage, but it is a big factor in a lot of dysfunctional marriages—even Christian ones—and we need to address it.
More folks might identify with other issues also addressed in the movie—petty obsessions like saving up for the next big thing (a car, a boat, whatever) that take time, money, and desire away from your spouse; disagreements about household chores and who does them; not feeling listened to or respected; getting more satisfaction at work than at home; a lack of physical and/or emotional intimacy, and the list goes on.
Some parts are funny. It has those feel-good zinger moments a la Remember the Titans or The Great Debaters or some other Disney Denzel enterprise. I laughed out loud sometimes, I have to admit it.
It’s a tear-jerker. The emotional impact is significant at many different points in the plot. In some instances, I knew I was being manipulated, but I cried anyway, and I definitely wasn’t the only one. It wasn’t quite the sobfest of my all time favourite movie, Shadowlands with Anthony Hopkins—during which I will weep like a newborn babe every time, but it’s pretty high up there on the tearometer.
I agree with the message of the movie, which is bound to be controversial for some: The best marriages are anchored in Christ. I know, I know, I can hear you already: “My marriage is not anchored in Christ and it’s wonderful.” “The divorce rate is the same for Christians as it is for everybody else.” “Some of the ugliest marriage break-ups I’ve seen have been in Christian homes.” Okay. There may be some exceptions, or perhaps the “Christian” marriages that fail weren’t what they seemed. There’s a difference between a marriage between two people who profess to be Christians and a marriage that is truly anchored in Christ. Or perhaps your own wonderful non-Christ-anchored marriage could be even better and you don’t realize it. Bottom line: The best marriages are anchored in Christ. Sorry if you’re offended.
An Oscar contender it is not, but a film to be watched and discussed it certainly is. Do yourself and your marraige a favour and watch it.
Apparently I can change the name of my blog to message2urparent and get my own domain for only $15 a year! I guess because word2yourmother is already taken. Thanks wordpress, but I think I’ll pass.
So I was researching how to promote my online shop today and couldn’t get over how many people stressed the importance of blogging–yes, blogging! for bringing in traffic. Not that I have to blog about my shop, I just have to have a link somewhere here and blog away and hope people find it. So, there’s my new motivation. Because folks, the hairclips aren’t going away. They are here to stay. Okay? Okay.
And that’s all I’m going to say about it for now, as I know promotion is not what you readers signed up for. Well, that, and, I’m going to have to change things up a bit around here so that the promotion thing might actually work. Like I might have to tag my entries with real words, stuff like that. But that doesn’t concern you, or at least it shouldn’t.
So, what to write about today? Parenting is usually a safe bet. So I’m gonna tell you all about my parenting “style” or lack thereof. Before I had a kid, I had no idea how much controversy surrounds different parenting decisions. Nor did I expect to actually care about the controversy, rather than just say, “what’s everyone so upset about?” and go on my merry way. Let me tell you, I care.
I’ve read a lot of parenting advice, but like most people, once I find advice I like (read: agree with), I tend to stick to that and ignore everything else. Makes for a convenient kind of justification for why I do what I do. But it’s a little more than that. I don’t just like the advice, but it makes sense to me, and goes with my instincts.
So, I’m a pseudo Dr. Sears fan. I don’t advocate everything that he advocates and I think some of his advice is simply unrealistic, but I think I identify with his broader mission of compassion and understanding in parenting. This is not, NOT permissive parenting or hippie parenting or whatever. I know there are boundaries and discipline is important. Maybe it’s better explained if I just use concrete examples.
Let’s talk about sleep, baby. I would say one of the most common questions I get is “And how is she sleeping for you?” or “Is she napping for you?” or some variation. What they mean is, does she sleep through the night and nap during the day with no problems? I have never asked a mom this. And I think it’s kind of annoying. Not with everyone, but it seems like some people who ask it are using the question to find out whether I have a “good” baby and whether I am a “good” parent. Yes, I’m a defensive Dora. Get used to it.
What do you mean, how does she sleep for me? She sleeps for herself, when she’s tired (and will admit to herself she’s tired), and not on command, and not necessarily when I want to sleep. Is that okay? Also, for the first 6 months of her life, if she didn’t sleep, I didn’t make her sleep. I didn’t let her “cry it out;” Brandon or I soothed her to sleep. If that didn’t work, sometimes she slept in our bed with us. At 8 months, I still don’t make her sleep, but now she’s better at communicating whether she’s hungry, lonely, hurt, or just cranky, and I respond accordingly. Sometimes I let her cry a little, sometimes I don’t. But I never leave her alone to cry for hours on end to “teach her to sleep.” This is where Dr. Sears backs me up. He’s against the cry-it-out method, and explains that crying is the only way babies know how to communicate. When we respond rather than ignore them, we are teaching them that we are listening and we are there for them, and are therefore teaching them how to communicate better.
That’s the thing I agree with. Think about it. For the first few years of life, a lot of kids are taught that it’s only okay to be upset when it’s convenient and rational. Otherwise, be quiet. Be “good.” Then in come the teenage years and parents constantly nag their kids, “Why don’t you talk to us? Why don’t you tell us what’s wrong?” Well I could hazard a guess. And yes, I know hormones and personality play a part, but I really believe parenting style, even early on, plays a part too.
So no, Clara doesn’t always “nap for me” or “sleep for me.” Sometimes I’m still up 4 times a night. Sometimes I’m up at 6 in the morning and there’s no going back to bed. But you know what? I’m okay with that. We’re working on it, and I think we’re making progress. And then somebody else asks about my daugther’s sleeping habits and I feel all defensive again. Usually I lie actually. “Yep. Sleeping great. Up a little here and there but otherwise, great.” If I had to time to explain that she isn’t and what we do or don’t do about it, I would. But usually I don’t have the time.
The important thing is, Clara’s healthy and actually a pretty happy kid. Whenever she’s in the nursery for church or mom to mom, the ladies always tell me how good she is. Seriously, every time. She’s content just to watch the other kids or chew on something or whatever. She never cries when I leave. Could it be because she knows I’ll be there if she needs me? Maybe. Or maybe it’s just her personality. I don’t say this to pat myself on the back, but rather to say, hey, it’s working for us. We’re doing okay. Maybe it won’t work for future children and we’ll reevaluate. But for now, I wish you could just leave my daughter’s nap schedule alone, okay?
Thanks for stayin with me here. Also, regarding my last post, I got some nice feedback from folks who experience the same challenges when trying to build community outside of their comfort zones. It ain’t easy for us introverts, or semi-introverts or whatever. Gotta stick together. I didn’t write the post to get people to feel sorry for me, but rather just to explain why I do what I do. I hope that came across.
Sorry for not writing. I hope I don’t have to rename my blog that. Clara is keeping me very very busy since she started crawling and learning how to latch onto my leg and open cupboards and race me to the stairs and whatnot. I love the li’l gaffer but man, she is a handful right now.
Ha, right now, I hear seasoned parents scoff. Yeah, yeah, it’ll only get worse yadda yadda yadda. Let me live with my delusions of a sane future.
Hi folks,
I’ve been a bad, bad blogger. There I go dangling the post-every-day carrot in front of your faces, only to revert back to my post-once-a-week ways. It’s the clips. And I know you’re sick of them. Just, here’s the thing:
I’ve always kinda sucked at fitting in. Not that I’m an outcast exactly, I just find it hard to put myself out there in social situations, whether they be at school, church, work–whatever. I would love to be part of a close-knit community of friends/colleagues, but I don’t quite know how to go about doing it. Maybe it’s because my family has always been so awesome that I’ve never really felt I needed to practice branching out. And that continues to be true, even truer now that I also have a husband and a daughter. But I find that I still want something more. Maybe I just need to feel valued by more than those people who value me because they love me. Does that make sense? I want to be recognized for contribution of some kind, however small.
Plus, who can I talk to my family about if they’re my only friends? If you’re reading this and you’re thinking, “Hey, I’m your friend,” yes you might be. But not a friend I communicate with on a daily or even weekly basis. And that’s fine. Our lives don’t intersect all that much right now and if there’s anything I hate it’s forcing stuff.
I’ve tried a few different things to feel more connected to the world: when I was a bride-t0-be, I spent a lot of time on http://www.theknot.com. When I was a mommy-t0-be, I spent a lot of time on http://www.whattoexpect.com. These sites were okay but I found that my social personality flagged even there. I lurked and didn’t put much out there. Other ladies were finding actual friends–like people who knew their real names and where they lived and got together for tea and such.
Maybe it was because these sites are mostly made up of Americans but I really think I also had something to do with it. I would post something and nobody would reply or maybe only a few people would and I would think, “Nevermind. That was stupid. Nobody likes me here anyway” and go back to lurking. When deep down, I knew it was because I wasn’t putting in any effort. I wasn’t trying to get to know people by responding to their posts or putting up pictures or anything.
Well, maybe you say, “So what? Online communities are lame anyway.” Maybe so. So I’ve tried to get more involved with “real people.” I joined Mom-to-Mom, Brandon and I joined a small group Bible study, I go swimming on Fridays once in a while. And these things have been working out alright, but not like, amazingly.
Perhaps you see now why I started the blog and told people about it on Facebook. Another way to connect. Sort of online, but sort of “real people” because the people who read it are people I at least sort of know. And then maybe once people got to know me better, I’d find more communities or ways of connecting. And this has been going okay as well, which is why I want to keep it up.
But I am really really excited about joining artfire and selling my clips there. It’s a really great community and for once I actually feel a part of it. I even paid for a $7 a month account. I fully expect it to be a loss for a while until I get some street cred, but it helps if I look at it more as hobby/entertainment than a business. Maybe someone else spends $7 a month on scrapbooking supplies, or yarn, or itunes, or newspaper/magazine subscriptions–you get the picture. (That said, if you’re going to sign up for a $7/month membership, let me know and I’ll tell you how to include that I referred you. If I get 10 referrals, my account is free for life!)
So expect this to turn into a bit more of a crafty blog, with crafty links to other crafty blogs and sites and such. I’m not going to abandon my other topics, but the clips may horn in on some of the action. Don’t you love that phrase? Horn in. So funny.
Oh, and I’m not posting my shop url yet because I’m waiting until I have more items up for sale and a more polished image. Once I do, you’ll be the first to know. After facebook, that is.
Hokay, so I feel bad for not blogging and I can’t think of a current post, so it’s time to fall back on good ole childhood memories.
You know that Seinfeld bit where he goes on about how, as a kid, your whole life is about candy–where is it, how can I get it, I need to make money so I can buy more of it etc. Well, for me, that wasn’t quite true. My whole life was about dolls. I liked stuffed animals all that too, quite a bit, but nothing compared to a beautiful doll.
Example: In grade one, I discovered porcelain dolls. My, they were exquisite! They looked so perfect and so detailed and pretty. I wanted one so badly. I called them “stone dolls.” Every time there was a star or a dandelion fluff or anything that was fair game to wish upon, I wished for a “stone” doll. In school, we made one of those class books where everybody gets to make their own page from pictures cut from a magazine. Well, I’m sure you know what I found a picture of. I put a picture of some cheesy porcelain doll smack dab in the middle of the page and that was it. Then, on silent reading days, which was right after lunch recess, I would race in from recess so I could get that book and just stare at the doll. Obsessed, oh yes. And in the days before the internet, I had to work with what I had.
Well, in May of that year, on my 7th birthday, I got my very first porcelain doll. I can remember sort of expecting it, not being able to sleep the night before, replaying two different scenarios in my head–the one where I get the doll and show her off to all my friends at my birthday party and play with her for the rest of my life, and the terrifying one where I don’t get the doll and have a crappy birthday and probably die. But I just had to get it. And I did. My mom owned (and still owns) a flower and gift shop so she could get me a pretty decent one wholesale. I knew this, so she really had no excuse. The doll was gorgeous, in pink of course, with her own white shoes and a bonnet and glass blue eyes with painted eyelashes and a perfect heart-shaped mouth. I was pretty much the happiest kid on earth.
It became a tradition that I would get one porcelain doll per year, either for my birthday or Christmas, up to grade 8. I had a pretty fabulous collection. And it wasn’t just for me. I figured one day I would have a daughter and I could give them all to her. What a lucky girl she would be! She wouldn’t even have to ask for one.
But eventually I came to care about things other than dolls (JTT anyone?) and sort of forgot about them. They got dusty on the shelf throughout high school and university. Then, on Christmas break, during my third year of university, I noticed they weren’t on the shelf. I asked my mom where they were, figuring she moved them into storage because it wasn’t really my bedroom anymore. She said, nonchalantly, “Oh, I think I gave them to Salvation Army. Well if they’re not in the garage I gave them away. I don’t remember.” My mother, I love her, but she could be infuriatingly “unsure” about what she did with our stuff while she was cleaning or reorganizing or whatever she did. Often we would go to “Sally Anne” to buy back our own toys, not a word of a lie. That always ticked her off. She would try to convince us they weren’t ours, but we usually knew, and we could always buy them because they were like, 40 cents. Anyway, so I race to the garage and check all the boxes and shelves and tupperware containers and there is no sign of them. So I go back to my mom and say, “Seriously?! You gave them away? How could you do that? They were really special to me. I wanted to give them to my kids.” Then she did the oh-don’t-be-so-dramatic/emotional thing and said, “What—those? They were all pretty cheap anyway. And they were in the garage for months and you never missed them. You must not have cared about them that much.” I was PISSED. I didn’t cry or anything (I would tell you if I did, I have no shame), but I was pretty put out. And it was a while ago that she did it too, so I wouldn’t have been able to find them and buy them back. Now, my mom, in her defense, worked full time–retail, no less–and cooked and cleaned and was basically superwoman for most of my life, and I know she found de-cluttering therapeutic, so I won’t fault her too much. But she didn’t even sound sorry for pete’s sake. Maybe she said sorry, I don’t remember, but she didn’t sound it. It was just kind of like, well, that’s the way cookie crumbles. Better luck next time. I called Brandon and told him about it and he sounded sympathetic, but I didn’t really expect him to understand of course. I’m a very nostalgic, sentimental person, and these kinds of things really get to me, but you can’t expect the boyfriend to care about porcelain dolls.
Fast forward to May of that year, my birthday. Brandon and I go out to dinner at Milestones and come back to my house afterwards, where I open my present from him in the privacy of my room. To my complete and utter surprise, it’s a brand new porcelain doll, an absolutely gorgeous one, but not so over the top that it’s cheesy like the ones you see in “Victorian” shops. Just a really nice, well made porcelain doll with long golden hair and a blue dress and black shoes and blue eyes. I said something like, “Oh, how beautiful!” and Brandon said nervously, “You know, cause you were so upset that your mom gave all yours away.” Then I cried. Not out and out bawled but got all teary and couldn’t really talk because I didn’t want to do the ugly cry. But I had to talk eventually because I could tell Brandon wasn’t 100% sure why I was crying, and I couldn’t explain it very well myself. I was crying for what felt like a million reasons. Because it was such a sweet thing to do, because it meant that Brandon really understood me, even the me that is still a little girl that cares about dolls, because I was very close to what I considered to be adulthood–one year left of school and marriage somewhere on the horizon (Brandon later said he was afraid I was crying because I was expecting a ring, but I wasn’t. Who wants a ring for their birthday when they can get a real present and then a ring?) and the doll was a reminder of how far I’d come and where I was going. It was just really, really awesome.
So now I have a daughter. She’ll be inheriting the doll of course. And that makes losing all those other dolls more than okay, because this doll comes with something the others didn’t: a story.
word2yourmother 