Wow….two interviews this week. What is this all about? How did this even happen? I was just minding my own business and not even looking for a job really.  I was planning on retiring in poverty and obscurity. Now I have to put the high heels back on and forge ahead. I was loving the Nikes and my walks. Loving sitting on on my beautiful deck reading and writing. Loving spending hours in my kitchen cooking and listening to my new found play lists on the 8tracks app. But such is life, we do what we have to.

Our last night at the lake. The kids and I sit out on the dock in the hallowed evening. Mike has retired early in preparation for the long drive home. The night air is warm as we sneak down to the dock but the longer we sit the cooler it becomes as we begin to sense a slight chill signifying the onset of cooler evenings. We marvel at the stars. How clear the sky is. How bright those distant balls of fire are. We observe shooting stars and airplane lights. We are pretty sure we see the actual Milky Way. Andrew is pointing out constellations using an astrology app on his iPhone which he brought down as we used it’s flashlight to keep ourselves from falling in the water. The brightest stars reflected in the water. You sure don’t see that in the city. The cottages across the way all have their lights on and these lights are mirrored in the now dark navy water. I feel so small and insignificant and yet marvellously blessed to be able to tilt my eyes upwards and observe our tiny section of the universe. The water is quite still, yet we can feel the dock moving underneath us. A rythmic sway as we ponder the vast and beautiful night sky. We reminisce about doing this twenty years ago and discovering that Andrew needed glasses as we lay on the trampoline in our backyard, pointing out the Big and Little Dipper and shooting stars while Andrew could see none of what we were seeing. He can tonight. In fact he appears to be our resident astrologer.

This last day was the hottest day we’ve had all week. We spent the entire day on the dock and in the water and under the sun. Between swimming, paddle boarding, kayaking and floating the four of us did it all. And Lexie did all several times. I paddle out to the middle of the lake where the water is smooth and serene and I enter into my own little safe and secure bubble where I can pretend nothing evil or unjust is happening in the world beyond this pond.  Stresses and problems forgotten for the moment and I breath deeply and inhale the fresh, sustaining air. Luckily there is no smoke today. It’s amazing how sound travels across the water as I hear muffled conversations coming from most cottages. The sounds of laughter and squeals coming from docks where other families are having fun. I paddle my way to the mouth of the small lake and contemplate wandering into the larger lake. I’ve got nothing but time and sunshine so I follow my instincts. Once out on the larger lake I paddle past campgrounds and recreational fishermen catching some quiet time as they drift slowly in their boats with their lines cast. These are the lazy hazy crazy days of summer.

We have dinner on the veranda tonight. I basically cooked up all the remaining food we’d brought out. Mike BBQ’d fresh steaks and leftover hamburgers. We boiled up the rest of the corn on the cob and baked the potatoes we bought at the tiny market at Sun Peaks resort. I made broccoli and cauliflower with cheese sauce and used up the rest of the salad fixings for a vibrant nutritious salad and we cherished our last supper together at the lake. As some of us were sipping our wine, my aunt’s pet squirrel, Neville, even dropped by for scraps. Not shy at all, he walked right up to the table and tilted his head, stood on his hind legs as if to ask where his plate was. Well if he hadn’t let Mr. Bluejay eat all the sunflower seeds Connie put out for him….

Mike, Andrew and I had driven out through the mountains to my aunts lovely lodge on the lake last Thursday with a car loaded with snacks, baking, food for the week and emotions expectantly excited for long hot days on the dock surrounded by water, loons, jumping fish and good reading material. My aunt Constance prepared the Four Seasons room for Mike and I. Wallpapered like a forest with a screen door opening onto the deck and a huge picture window with a comfy leather chair and ottoman close by, we had the best room on the premises. In the past, this is usually my mom’s room but since she did not join us this year, it became ours. Perfect for sneaking out to the dock at the crack of dawn with my bible and a couple of inspirational books. Also perfect for reading and writing long after mike has gone to sleep, as I sit in the leather chair with my feet on the ottoman, legs wrapped up in a down throw, screen door open listening to the haunting calls and cries of the loon. Friday is hot and quiet and we have the lake to ourselves. Saturday is smokey so we drive into town to accomplish some of my aunts errands and check out the lush and colourful farmers market. I’d have bought all sorts lucious things had I been at home. I happen across a marvellous find at VV. An exquisitely crocheted white and pink floral Afghan. I cannot believe someone has ditched this beautiful piece of craftsmanship only to be found amongst the junk at VV. So I grab it, it’s quite heavy, pay for it and B-line for the car as if I’d stolen something. Lexie flies in on Saturday night to join us. Sunday is cool and rainy so we hibernate inside with puzzles, books, blankets for napping, sketching and snacking and writing in my comfy leather chair, my favorite music serenading in the background. Just being together, once again, as family enjoying a relaxing vacation day is more than enough. It’s more than we deserve. It’s a blessing.  Monday and Tuesday are hot and we spend the days on the dock and in the water from 7:00 am on.

It’s become tradition to drive into Sun Peaks resort for pizza and ice cream one evening. We do that Monday evening and the kids engage in lengthy conversation with the young owner of the ice cream shop.  The pace of life at the resort is slow and unhurried on an August Monday night and the rest of us saunter the Bavarian streets and shops as the kids give the young German shop owner advice and suggestions for her impending move to Vancouver.

The talks we have, the watermelon we slurp down on the dock, the bike rides Mike goes on with my aunt, patching the family size floatie we brought out three summers ago, the neighbors new pup Annie, all add up to another memorable summer experience. We had the lazy, definitely the hazy and inevitably the crazy days of summer all wrapped up.

True confessions. I was THAT mom. You know the one. The one whose daughter’s waist long, lemon juice tinted hair was always perfectly coifed for school and church – and camping and play dates etc. Not to mention the nail polish at 3 and the pierced ears at 5. The mom that never failed to bring homemade and exquisitely decorated sugar cookies or cupcakes (sometimes both) to her kids classes on their birthdays. I was upset when they informed me in middle school I had to stop. ( The kids not the teachers.) That mom that always volunteered to help the teachers decorate their bulletin boards or decorate the teachers lounge. Yes I was the one that made pies for the schools grand opening picnic and they ended up being auctioned off for $125@. I was always available for field trips to the Zoo, Chinatown, Banff, Grotto canyon, skating, curling, swimming, the Science centre, Circle Square Ranch – i should have been on salary. I even had one of the students yank my sleeve crying ‘teacher, teacher…’. Speaking of science, I designed most of Andrew’s award winning science projects… often enlisting Mike to carry them off. I overheard Andrew say to his friend once ‘I wish my mom wasn’t so creative – the pressure!!!’ I was a homework fiend. I always loved homework, always have, still do and was always chomping at the bit to see what mark I got (I mean what mark the kids got). It has been said that I really didn’t need university since I graduated grade 12 three times. Once in 1975, once in 2005 and once in 2008.

I was THAT mom who sewed her kids clothes. Who made her daughter matching coats and dresses every Easter and a new dress for the first day of school and of course for the Christmas concert. I cut my sons hair in the style of the day. I always decorated the house and the food for Easter, Birthdays, Father’s Day, Canada day, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentines and very often St. Patrick’s since we are Irish Stewart’s, apparently. I was THAT weirdo who made heart shaped waffles, heart shaped pizzas and heart shaped full-pan chocolate chip cookies on Valentine’s Day. At Easter I found a new way to hide chocolate eggs every year. I made a big hoohaw out of every single holiday even making a few up of my own, such as ‘first snow of winter’ holiday or ‘cousins are coming to town’ holiday. We once created a red carpet on the sidewalk for their arrival one summer.

If I had to be away, I bought all the groceries and cooked all the meals. Organized all the clothes, left daily notes and treats hidden under pillows and in pockets, arranged sleepovers and carpools and after school care so everything would run like clockwork and my little darlings would not be inconvenienced or lacking in any way.

I made amazing LEGO structures. I made all the puzzles. Played all the games. Watched all the Disney movies. Played with all the Barbies (elevating this obsession with homemade Barbie house and clothes). It was always my idea to go to TOYS R US. I was as enthusiastic and obsessed as they were to collect the most valuable and rare Beanie Baby Bears. I made cozy quilts and duvets for the kids beds and don’t get me started on how I decorated their rooms.

Yes I was that lunatic that made my kids homemade lunches everyday and loved it (most of the time) as well as picked them up from school with after school snacks in the car. Last day of school before Christmas and summer was always lunch out and a movie and shopping. I was having a blast! Forgot your lunch at home? No problem I’ll go home and get it because you, dear sweetums, are my life.

I was THAT over-the-top mom that threw her kids themed birthday parties every year. (It was for me, not them really). I LOVE planning events and stuff. I thrived on surprises. Setting the mood. Camping? More like glamping.   I cooked for a week preparing homemade food and baking to take with. Made sure we had all the cozy clothes and rain gear, games, waterguns, swimsuits and floaties, s’more ingredients, flashlights for everyone.

I was THAT mom who tossed the kids towels in the dryer just before they got out of the tub so they’d have warm and cozy. I did the same with their sheets and blankets on cold winter nights. I made them quilts for no reason other than a labor of love. That and the fact that I got a kick out of cutting good fabric into tiny pieces and sewing them back together again in a different design.

I was a baseball mom until I realized Andrew spent all of his time catching flies in his cap (I mean real flies not pop flies). I was a dance mom. Lexie began in in ballet. Loved attending the Nutcracker just to see her move up the ranks each year. When I realized ballet wasn’t going to be her thing I switched her over to figure skating. I was THAT mom that sat through every session and practice with snacks and encouragement in spite of the fact there were icicles hanging off my nose and stayed up to ungodly hours designing and sewing skating costumes. Drive to the neighbouring town for competitions… no problem. Next up? Irish dancing. Yup… spent a month of evenings designing and sewing a Feis competition dress. Those Irish dancing dresses were over the roof pricey.

We did a staycation one summer due to lack of funds and I took the kids to every site and activity that Calgary had to offer. The Stampede, Butterfield acres, Calgary Tower, Lake Sicome, ice cream in Cochrane, Johnsons canyon, the Zoo, science centre, LRT ride just for the experience, Heritage Park. Movies, picnics, city pools. We did it all. Several other summers I bought seasons passes for a Heritage Park and we went at least once a week to ride the  caterpillar and eat candy until we were too dizzy to walk home. Bought the kids a baby Sheltie pup for Christmas and put it in their stocking. I’m not even kidding.

I could go on but I won’t as even I’M getting tired and nauseated. Why did I do all this? To make memories. To show love. To live vicariously. To have fun. Because I could. But I’m only human, there were times when all of this was a bit much and the appreciation shown was in no way commensurate  to the effort, expense and emotional energy invested. I truly did it out of love and not for recognition but people continued to marvel which was totally embarrassing, if truth be told. Often I’ve felt I had to tone things down a bit so I didn’t make people, and by people, I mean other moms, feel bad.

Be grateful that I wasn’t also a THAT mom that was in tiptop shape and arrived everywhere in my ‘leave little to the imagination’ Lulus and Nikes with perfect makeup and hair and designer bags. I thought I would cut you some slack and be a slob. I couldn’t be super mom AND super model both. Ain’t nobody got time for dat.

So when you run into other moms and women who operate at this level, just let them be. They are not trying to make you look bad or elevate themselves. Maybe they are just having fun and getting the most out of life and trying to leave their kids with good, whole and healthy memories. Love them.  Maybe they are insecure and trying to prove themselves. Love them. Maybe they are kind and generous with lots of energy and ideas. Love them.

And if any of this was damaging, I plead ignorance. I thought I was doing good. If nothing else I sure had fun. I miss those neurotic days said no mom ever.

I wrote this is 2012. Thought I’d share again.
I went to an IL DIVO concert last night. It was awesome. The singing was transcendent and I found myself somewhere else, living some other life. (I’m listening to them as I write this). Some fairy tale life where I am the most important, most amazing, most loved, most beautiful and most desired woman in the world. Maybe that is why all the women fall for their music…because it gives us something that we never can quite find in our own lives. We live in reality…where we have husbands that we’ve been married to forever that are not usually romantic and they don’t regularly bring us Starbucks and flowers and they don’t rip our clothes off in animal desire anymore (maybe never did). They don’t spend hours gazing into the deep pools that are our eyes. They don’t have time to linger in bed and wrap us up with the sheets or get up in the middle of the night and make us pancakes (if they even know where the kitchen is) and we eat by candlelight. They don’t spend all their time focusing on how to surprise us with gifts and trips and romantic gestures. We don’t sail off into the sunset wrapped in their arms with the moon shining down on the deck and the waves slapping up against the boat. Rarely.

Real life is….well….too real. Too unpredictable. Too predictable. Too apathetic. Too urgent. Too full of crisis or totally empty. Men are not relational by nature and they really are not our soul mates for the most part. Most men don’t know there exists deep inside every woman a deep need and desire to be…well…desired. We want to know we are beautiful. We want to know that we are the most important person in our man’s life. We want to be appreciated. We want to be complimented, encouraged, affirmed and spoiled. We want to be cherished and protected. Is this happening in most relationships? Marriages? Or have a lot of us fallen into assumption and apathy. You know the old story….I told you I loved you at the wedding…if anything changes I’ll let you know. Our men are just not cutting it…and not getting it. Then IL DIVO shows up and sing songs of undying passion and love…to some mythical woman who is the most beautiful in the world and worth dying for. They can’t think of anything else. (at least we think that’s what they are saying since they are usually singing in Spanish or French…they could be telling us how their dog got run over by a pick up truck). And to we, supposedly short changed women…they become our heros…our knight riding up on a great horse to rescue us and save us from redundancy. They answer the questions that tear at the deepest places of our souls. And for one concert, one song, one moment…we can live out the idea that maybe, just maybe, we ARE worthy amazing loveable desirable women. The stuff movies and books are made of. And music…there is something about music that moves the soul almost anytime….never mind when the words of love and affirmation are being sung by young handsome talented men dressed in black tuxes surrounded by clouds of dry ice. Snap…concerts over. Back to reality.

I do some research on these guys. One was married for three years and is divorced. One is possibly living with a woman…the mother of his child…very cloak and dagger-ish. One is married with three children to a woman to whom pregnancy could be fatal each time. One is newly married…no kids. So these men are not single and searching and dateable…especially to us older married women. What were we thinking??? Slap slap. Wake up. These songs are written with poetic words and themes that are lovely and idealistic. Possibly the way God meant love to be but because of our sinful natures…it never really turns out quite that way. These guys are real men who live real lives with real relationships that struggle with pain and loss and failure too. They are also stuck in the human condition. It just so happens they have amazing voices and their day job is to sing to us and transport us to fantasyland…if they have done this then they have been successful. But its all a ruse. Unfortunately. And I wake up the next morning beside my aging husband of 31 years and wonder why my Grande Extra Hot Soy Tazo Chai is not sitting on my night table beside a dozen pink tipped roses. Its sad when Extra Hot is an adjective I only use for my favorite beverage and not the man I love and cherish.

These men of ours want to be our knights in shining armor. Our protectors and our providers. They want to be bigger than life to us but we have set the bar way too high…so unless they have fabulous voices and a Hugo Boss wardrobe we can’t seem to perceive them this way. Since when did I become the picture of womanly perfection? Justified in putting unreasonable demands and expectations on the man that has been faithful to me for 31 years. I must realize that I am: 1. Blessed to even wake up at all. 2. Wake up beside my husband of 31 years. 3. Wake up beside a man that has stood by my side through richer or poorer, sickness and health, better or worse 4. Wake up beside a man that IS real and not phony. Honest and stable. 5. Wake up beside a man that does protect me and provide for me in the best way that he can while all the time realizing that life can often really beat a man down. 6. Wake up beside a man that is the father of my two amazing children. 7. Wake up and know I have someone to face the day with and share life with….I am not alone. 8. Wake up and praise God for this man, this relationship and this marriage that has made my life so rich in so many ways. 9. Wake up and watch all our cherished memories play through my mind. 10. Wake up to know that most likely I will also be saying goodnight to this amazing man I am privileged to call Sweetheart, Darling, Honey.

So what if he buys his clothes at Costco and Value Village (he actually bought a Hugo Boss suit there recently). So what if the only time I hear him sing is beside me at church. So what if he doesn’t bring me Starbucks and flowers…he risks his life climbing up onto our plant shelf every time I want to redecorate (which is quite often). So what if he doesn’t surprise me with Mediterranean cruises, he picks my mom up at the airpot in the middle of the night and buys my kids flights to the places they need to go to follow their dreams (while we stay at home and work all week). This man I wake up to is flesh and blood and my reality and I find myself singing the words of IL DIVO’s songs in my heart in regards to my husband because I DO think he is the most amazing man on the planet…at least the most amazing one for me specifically. He is not a ruse…he’s the real thing.

And I know if I dressed him up in HUGO BOSS and put him on well lit stage with a microphone in his hand and surrounded him with clouds of fake steam that there would be oodles of women throwing their underwear on stage for him. So I think I’ll keep him and just remember that IL DIVO are great male singers….not my soul mates. They won’t be there when I wake up tomorrow morning….my faithful amazing real husband will be. The words of IL DIVO’s ditty’s sound far to trite to express my love for you Sweetheart.

Now I think I’ll go out an get my own Starbucks. Oy Vey.

What is it about August? There is something romantic, deep and residing about August. Historically, August days are usually sort of hot and dry and viscerally,  meant for reflection and just lolly gagging in general. A great month for the taking of summer vacations. June and July are usually having an identity crisis…are we summer or are we not? But August knows. August feels like deep inspiration and wisdom. August reminds me of a prophet warning us that autumn is on the cusp and take advantage of these lazy hazy crazy days now. Take time to watch the sunrise. Take time to soak up the heat. Take time to let your toes play in the grass, the breeze, the sand or the water. Let your hair blow in the wind…don’t take yourself or life too seriously in August. Get lost in a great story. Don’t think about September at all. Just live in the moment. Get married. Have a baby. Visit your great aunt and have tea on the porch. Swing. Water the flowers. This is not a time for cleaning the basement or painting the living room or doing a financial audit. It’s a time to have afternoon naps or pick berries and make pies. It’s a time to go fishing. Summertime and the living is easy, fish are jumping and the cotton is high…. Put away all the trappings of the city and the hustle and bustle and slow down. Slow waaaay down. Listen to the birds and the crickets and the frogs. Listen to the night sounds as you lay on top of your sheets with the windows open and the fans whirring in the background. Better yet…sleep outside on the porch or the deck or the dock. Pick flowers – fill your surroundings with the sweet smell and luscious color of bunches of blooms. Paint…write…quilt on the porch. Wave to passersby. August doesn’t require hosiery, belts, stilettos or ties. Wrap yourself in flowing cool white linen or cotton and hide under a great big brim. Get out the lemonade and sip slowly savoring every drop. August is a time for abiding…abiding with our favorite peeps, abiding with the Lord, abiding with what is. Living in the moment. It’s a time of preserving. Whether its fresh fruit or fresh friendships…..preserve. It’s a time for deep meaningful growth. What you do in August will live with you for the rest of the year. It will sustain you during the hard, cold, busy winter season. August is wisdom and healing and restoration.

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I did not want to get out of bed today. The sky was overcast and I could feel the cool breeze blowing through the bedroom. I told myself it was too ugly for walking. It just felt so fine to lay under the covers and realize that I could do anything I wanted. Get up, not get up. Go for a walk, don’t go for a walk. I could just pull the covers back on and lay there to my hearts content. It was my choice. No one was expecting anything from me at all. I argued with myself for about an hour after Mike left for work. Sometimes we just need a good lazy day. How many times, when I was working, did I just long to stay in bed and hide from the world and all it’s responsibilities and expectations and harshness? I was now in a position to do just that.

But…. I dutifully forced myself to put feet on the floor, walk upright, because that’s just the kind of gal I am. I’m a creature of duty and guilt. I quickly made the bed, adjusting the sheets, duvet and cushions to perfection, lest I crawl back in. I sauntered down the stairs to the kitchen just to make sure I was fully awake and fully alive. Then I unlocked the patio door and wandered out onto the deck and then the lawn. I wanted to make sure I would not talk myself into returning to my comfy lazy safe bed.

I did some putzing around the house, rounding up a load of laundry to match one item. Did the dishes that miraculously appeared in the sink overnight. Ironed a top that I wasn’t planning on wearing today, I just wanted it to be ready when I did get the urge to wear it. Checked my emails, Instagram and Facebook. Made my daughters bed just because. I was stalling. What I really needed to do was slip (and by slip, I mean wrestle) into my lulus and joggers and hit the pavement.

I decided to treat myself and drive to the reservoir for my walk. I get tired of walking through the neighborhood critiquing people’s lawns and backyards. I needed to get into nature. Be surrounded by mountains or trees and water so I drove myself to the reservoir. I parked my car at the shopping centre bordering the reservoir and began my workout.

It was still partly overcast and windy and sporadically chilly. Looked like rain but I just tied my rain jacket with hood around my waist and set out. It wasn’t long before my eyes caught side of some purple wildflowers blowing in the long marshy grass along the trail. As I made my way at a decent clip along the path, I was passed by bikers and joggers. The paddle wheel boat from the park across the reservoir was out on the water blowing its horn. I kept walking until I rounded the corner to the sailing school. A perfect day for learning to sail. I took pictures and videos so I could rewatch these calming moments. Watching those crisp white sails shooting across the waves speaks to me of purpose and destination. Of skill and fearlessness. Of clarity and resolve.

I kept on. Past sailing students enjoying a BBQ lunch. Past some leaves already yellowing on August 4th. Past an elderly lady sunning herself with eyes closed on a memorial bench. Until I had completed the loop where I entered the path. I hadn’t been walking long enough so I paused to decide if I would go further or succomb to the call of Starbucks. I decided to go the extra mile (literally) because that’s the kind of gal I am. I pressed on. Past larger private sail boats moored in the water, moms with strollers, old couples with hats, holding hands, until I reached the Heritage Park end of the trail. That’s not actually the end of the trail but it was as far as I was going. I turned back, glad I’d made the effort. One deliberate choice after another.

Always feeling accomplished when I make the effort.  I know it’s good for me but maybe laying in bed until noon, just because I can would be good for me too?