Sitting at a Chapters Starbucks savouring a bag of crunchy sweet BBQ kettle chips while sipping on a cool peach green tea lemonade. This experience is enhanced if you are sharing the moment with someone you love to be with. I’m addicted to this combo. In my defense, the bag of chips is small and mom and I have convinced ourselves they are healthy or at the very least, the lesser of all the Starbucks treat evils. My personal trainer sister mocked us for thinking, and worse yet, believing, that any bag of chips was healthy. But we don’t care, we’re gonna eat them anyway.

I’ve fallen in love with relaxing by the fire accompanied by some smooth jazz after a long, tedious and hard day. Who am I kidding? I like to do this everyday. I’m so impressed with, and grateful for, a fireplace that jumps to serve by the flick of a switch. I snuggle up in a chair close enough to absorb the heat and pretend to read a book. After I’ve read the same page 5 times I give myself up to the semiconscious snooze while the music soothes my subconscious appreciation.

Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes or just outside a picture window for my viewing pleasure. I love listening to the silence of huge ash like flakes slowly and softly falling to the ground as they pass by the street light on their descent. This moment is enhanced if I can hear my favorite Christmas music playing in the background and I usually can as this festive music comes out at first snowfall. I can’t help myself.

I am soothed and healed by the sound of the waves crashing again the shore as I lay in bed next to my snoring husband, after a rushed and invasive trip across the Pacific Ocean. Once I hear those waves I know we have extracted ourselves from our stressful real lives and will be waking up to a slower pace in the morning. An existence with no alarm clocks or todo lists, knowing my toes and soles will be massaged by warm soft sand soon.

Walking into the floral boutique where my daughter spends her days. The shabby chic decor flush with flowers and the heavenly scent of roses, peonies and eucalyptus. I love watching the girls (the designers) quickly and adeptly gather together arms full of flowers and turn these into the most visually appealing arrangements. For the most part, it’s such a happy business.

It all started with the Sears Christmas Wish catalogue back when I was too young to shop for myself. My sisters and I would wait in eager anticipation of its arrival. Often my mom would withhold it and use it as a treat for some unfinished task. Plus we each got to enjoy it all by ourselves for the first peruse. Then once it was coffee table fodder my sisters and I would play a game we called ‘pick’. We would proceed to go through the catalogue page by page and take turns getting first pick of anything on that page. This was purely for entertainment but to this day we all love magazines. There is just something about actually turning those beautiful glossy pages filled with brilliant photography of beautiful and fun things that holds me captive. I also get many a fine creative idea from these magazines as well. I do have several magazine subscriptions sent to my iPad monthly but they are not quite as fun as hanging at chapters and browsing the real thing.

Zara may start with a Z but it’s the first name on my list when I’m at Chinook mall. I often go pick up my husband from his practice at Chinook and I’m usually there earlier than he gets off. The text he most often receives? ‘Hi honey. I’m at Zara’. They’ve conveniently located two couch areas directly in front of the stores doors for mike to sit when he is done and I am not. I’ve been to Zara in New York, Las Vegas, Barcelona, Paris, London, Venice, Rome, Vancouver, Toronto and Calgary so each time I am in one I feel like I’m on vacation in some glamourous locale and very often, I am. I can count on Zara to surprise and delight and stock the most current trends that I fall in love with in the aforementioned magazines.

Father of the Bride (Franc and that basketball hoop), You’ve got Mail (that quaint little bookstore and the New York brownstone) , Breakfast at Tiffanys (Audrey Hepburn and George Pepard and Moon River), It’s Complicated (that French bakery and coffee shop), Something’s Gotta Give (that glorious beach house), The Holiday (everything except Kate Winslets jerky ex boyfriend who makes me want to throw up in my mouth) White Christmas (and I fall asleep counting my blessings)….these are the movies I will watch anytime anywhere. I can’t get enough of them.

Continued….

A week spent with my sisters (during the month that I will turn 60) has been an enlightening and healing experience. When we were young… ages 18, 15, 13 and 11…we were obviously in different stages of experience and interest. I loved all my sisters but let’s face it, I wasn’t that interested in an 11 years olds life. Or even a 13 year olds life. Then I moved away from home at 18 and pretty much missed the growing up of my younger siblings. They are shaped by experiences that I really have no knowledge of. Therefore, most of the years following, even as they went to college, got married, had families and established their professional lives I’ve still been thinking of them as 15, 13 and 11.

If you do the math you will realize by now that we are 60, 57, 55 and 53? (Sorry Jacqui). That’s a completely different scenario. Those are the ages of some of my best friends these days. And at this point age isn’t that defining. Who they’ve become is really what I need to focus on now. And who they’ve become is vastly shaped by their life experience which I have not really been privy to as we are spread across the world… literally.

I have been living with some false perceptions. No, really? First of all, I have perceived myself as the family idiot. My mom hates it when I call myself that but it’s just that all my siblings, most younger than me, have got a degree or two each or at the very least, some valuable post secondary education that has enabled them to have professions. They are so accomplished. I’m still trying to sort out what I want to be when I grow up. Are folks in the nursing home allowed to take university courses?

In reality, I actually chose marriage and family over academia. It wasn’t popular to announce this back when I was post secondary education age but that’s actually what I wanted and that’s what I got. So-mission accomplished! Plus I was creative more than intelligent but you can’t make a living being creative. At least that was the message that was subliminally preached to me by my environment. So I’ve wasted a lot of years feeling I didn’t measure up when in actual fact I was quite content with my lot in life. But I thought somehow I was inferior if I expressed total satisfaction with being a wife, a mother and thriving on domesticity. But that is the honest truth. I am content with my life.

As circumstances would have it, and I loved those circumstances…we spent a lot of time around the pool this particular week. You know what that means. There was a limited amount of lycra and spandex covering our birthday suits. Let’s just say I finally learned the meaning of the axiom ‘large and in charge’. Not only am I the oldest and bossiest,I am also the largest. Not that those two are synonymous, just the way it worked out I guess. If you want to be bossy size can be an advantage. Let’s just say donning swimwear is not my finest hour…it exposes more than flesh. It exposes my insecurities and leaves me vulnerable. I am much cuter when wrapped head to toe in designer (actual) clothing. In years gone by, my younger sisters had put me upon a style and beauty pedestal and I actually quite revelled in the glory. Unfortunately this set the bar quite high and I’ve been struggling to maintain their respect and awe for the last decade or so.

My youngest sister is a fitness trainer and a dwarf so …. need I say more? The next sister was blessed with this lovely tiny boned body (I actually think she was adopted) and the sister closet in age to me has just learned how to remain lovely and thin. So what’s my excuse? I’m working on it. I’m forever working on it and sometimes I get tired of working on it. Sometimes I get tired of doing battle against my short waist, thick legs, linebacker shoulders, my love of cooking and eating and I’d rather be painting, quilting, sewing, decorating, reading or writing than working out. So sue me.

But I managed to have a blast around that pool inspite of my girth. I didn’t have to look at me. l was just enjoying everyone’s company and the heat and the relaxation and having a great time. It is what it is. No use getting hung up on it. I wasn’t going to let it ruin my vacation. And it didn’t. We just had SO much fun and I felt accepted by my family. Maybe they were secretly elated that I was huge and they were not but if I could make them feel good about themselves let’s just say I took one for the team. LOL

So I realized that I am related to some very beautiful, glamourous, intelligent, polished, professional, sensitive, strong, resilient, generous women this week. And I am one of them. I am privileged to be part of this genealogy. I’ve started to finally accept them as friends and ally’s rather than hold them in judgement and competition. We are peers now, not divided by age and superiority. I guess that is why we had so much fun. We are fun when we let down our pretenses and quit hiding. I think we started to let our guard down and accept each other as the valuable person they are. It only took 53 years. Let’s not waste anymore time ladies.

Love you to the moon and back.

DISCLAIMER: When I refer to myself as large in this article, I am comparing myself to my sisters not the rest of the population. I, myself, fluctuate. I would never judge people on size. I am all too familiar with the battle that is weight management. Believe me, I know the struggle.

Its interesting to realize that safety and growth are not actually synonymous.
Not only arent they synonymous they are practically opposites. Anybody that clings to safety will most likely not grow so now I have a conundrum.

The other thing that occurs to me is this, I have about as much control over their safety as I do of the Pope. It’s not my job (anymore). At 26 and 30 they have to take ownership for their safety to a large degree. I still offer up unsolicited advice but no ones listening. And that, folks, is what makes this job so dang hard.

As a mother, I just finally get a handle on my responsibilities for a certain phase and then all the rules change and I have to loosen my grip a bit more. I liked being needed. I enjoyed being the centre of their universe. I took my responsibilities seriously and trained myself to be their secret service. Although it wasn’t that much of a secret.

I am a fixer and a rescuer mainly because I can. I’m very self sufficient, always have been. Phrase most often heard coming out of my mouth: I can do that myself.

But I have to pull back and let these adults find their own way, make their own mistakes, solve their own problems and achieve their own victories. They have to know they can and I must not interfere. Oh that rips my heart out. I feel….so helpless. I just want to save them a lot of grief and let them learn through my experience but that is not the way most of our kids work. They have to learn on their own. Let’s face it… the only reason I have the advantage of wisdom is because of my own experience…. good experiences and not so good experiences aka: mistakes.

I’ve been demoted. At least it feels that way. My new role is to love, support, encourage and pray. That’s it! Not that that is a small insignificant task. Why does it feel that way often?

Although the mother role is continually changing and evolving, meaning you are continually learning – it has been the most rewarding job I have had the privilege to fill. Hard but worth it. Rewarding. Just the fact that my kids made it past the age of two and are still talking to me is a major accomplishment. I had lots of help… yes, Mike, but more significant even than that, the Lord. Because I do have callouses on my knees as a result of the prayer going up for them. I have hit the wall many times over the years in regards to fear, anger, frustration and exhaustion but the Lord graciously heard my prayers and came to the rescue. And He reminds me of my purpose and role in my kids lives ‘for such a time as this’. And there’s no need for me to make this job harder than it needs to be. They are His and I am His. And nobody is going to lay me off of this job. It belongs to me. The pay is crap but the benefits are Cadillac.

 

Those of you lucky enough to have offspring know exactly which one I am talking about. I’m pretty sure that once upon a time I read a book by James Dobson titled ‘Parenting isn’t for Cowards”. At the time I thought, yes, it IS tricky but its not all that bad. That was back when my kids thought I pretty much knew everything and could fix everything broken and solve every problem and I began to believe that, very possibly, I could.

But Im getting ahead of myself. Was my deepest secret ambition in life to be an astronaught, a doctor, an interior designer or to fall in love and marry my knight in shining armor (ah I crack myself up but more on that later) and to proceed to have a family? Indeed it was the latter. Well I thought I had married the man of my daydreams but lets face it, marriage is pretty hard too. It was a rude awakening for my husband the day he realized I wasn’t a princess either. But as I stated, another story for another day. We waited a safe and well planned 6 years before we decided it was time for children. I feel guilty telling you that the moment we discussed “do you think we should starting having kids”, I walked away from that conversation pregnant and by the time the doctor declared I was indeed ‘with child’ I had already gained 10 pounds. And so it went.

We as women get the most hallowed honor and privilege to grow a child inside of us. We are connected to these children in the most profound way. A mysterious way. Only God could have created the conception, pregnancy and birthing scenario. It really is most amazing if you stop and think about it. It requires two people to create another miracle with a beating heart, two insightful eyes, ten tiny little fingers, ten whimsical little toes, and a life giving umbilical cord. But only one carries it and so, we mothers, live our lives for 9 months with this amazing miracle growing inside us. We are bonding and caring for this wee life from the moment we find out. Its just amazing to me that another life can grow inside another human being. We eagerly await the day of arrival. We can’t wait to find out what this baby will look like and what his character will be. We can’t wait to rock that baby and cuddle her in our arms instead of our womb and nobody tells you about that incredible baby smell that will intoxicate you. Im not talking about the one coming from down under, I’m  talking about the one that makes you want to rub your nose on their head and kiss them to pieces. You bring your bubbling bundle of joy home and begin to love side by side.

I was determined to be the ultimate best mother ever. I mean nobody starts out with the goal of being a bad mother, do they? I was going to raise these kids right. I would make sure they were snug as a bug in a rug safe. I would make sure that they never went without any of the necessities of life. I would make sure that they were well fed and well dressed and had the best education we could give them. I know he/she is only one week old but you think about these things. Right from the get go, I knew I wanted to be available to tuck my kids in each night and pray with them. I wanted to bake them cookies when they came home from school. I want to build them Lego towers and share the same Disney movie with them 57 times in a row. I wanted to take them to the zoo and Toys-r-us. Im not sure who enjoyed Toys-r-Us more, them or me. I wanted to make memories and traditions out of every holiday and birthday. I was intentional about my family goals and especially my kids goals. We took them camping and stuffed them full of smores and pancakes. We put them swimming lessons until they grew fins. Baseball – you bet. Figure skating – living vicariously. Ballet just so I could say my child was in the Nutcracker. Irish Dancing because I loved RiverDance. I invented a new way to find Easter eggs every single Easter. Fill their stocking at Christmas with glorious treasures. Baked them heart shaped cookies, cakes and pizza for Valentines. Canada Day jello. I was intentional about piano lessons and practicing. I knew that even if they did not evolve into famous maestros the music would enrich their lives.

I read to them and sang to them and rocked them as babies. Naturally I taught them to walk and to talk and to eat with utensils. I potty trained one and the other one trained themselves. I made sure they got the proper medical attention when needed. I was their barber and hairstylist. I sewed clothes for them. I had heaps of fun designing and sewing beautiful chintz dresses for my little girl. I was an accomplice to many amazing science projects. Most often the favorite part of the day was to tuck them into bed and pray with them. If I didn’t pray they would call me on it. Sometimes I did forget, because frankly, even though I wanted to be the perfect mother, I wasn’t always. True confessions, on a few occasions I just quickly sang them this little ditty from Sesame Street…Sweetums lay your ugly head, down up on your wretched bed, close your eyes and go to sleep and don’t get up you ugly creep…and rushed off to do the dishes, the laundry, the vacuuming…the crying.

As I reflect on everything I did and didn’t do as a mother, it occurs to me my motivation for almost every loving service I provided to them was ‘safety’. Their safety. And when I think about it now that they are grown that is still my ultimate motivator. My kids safety and their growth. I firmly believed that it was my duty and blessing to keep them safe and to make sure they felt loved. Truly loved. I poured myself into this endeavor with my whole being until I had drained myself dry and then I squeezed out a couple drops more.

Its interesting to realize that safety and growth are not actually synonymous.
(To be continued)

 

Well I am home now but the memories and times I shared in Vegas with Mom and my sisters will live on in infamy for sure. The Calgary stampede is advertised as the most fun you can have with your boots on. I’ve actually not found the stampede to be all that fun, truth be told. Jeans and cowboy boots are not my favorite thing to wear when its 25 degrees out although I usually do play along a bit. Country music is an oxymoron in my humble opinion (which isn’t actually all that humble) and a parade consisting mainly of horse poop doesn’t thrill me at all.

But Las Vegas with my three sisters? Now that’s my idea of a good time. I was not aware of that until we all connected in my room at Treasure Island late Sunday night. It took some time for the reality to sink in as we are literally spread across the globe. It was an amazing fait accompli.

A dining experience that I had not previously mentioned was our dinner at Giada’s restaurant at The Cromwell. We feasted on antipasto charcuterie platters, marguerita flatbread, ravioli, salmon and roasted Brussels sprouts, crispy capers and warm focaccia buns. A party for the palate as well as emotions.

We gasped and awed our way through Cirque de Soliels LOVE (set to a mash-up of 200 Beatles songs with 30 full songs on the soundtrack). Apparently there were three speakers in each seat so we would hear every word and note of music. No wonder the performance got under our skin. The theatre is the most technologically advanced theatre anywhere and because the theatre is set in the round there in not a bad seat in the house. It took our breath away.

Lexie took it upon herself to find us an affordable pedicure venue -Las Vegas Nails. Seriously? How original. The hotel spas wanted our first born in exchange for shellac, massage, wax treatment and scaling. We had to walk a couple of miles in the sweltering heat to get there but we had more time than money and Natalie had the brilliant idea (she has a degree and I don’t) of walking back through the air conditioned hotels. I guess that didn’t occur to us on the way there as we were in a bit of a rush to meet our appointment time. (It’s tricky coordinating six women with different ideas of what they want to do and where they want to be).  But we all finally had pool worthy toes for the remainder of the trip.

As luck would have it, the Cake Boss restaurant of TV fame was right across the street from our hotel so we picked up some birthday sweets and treats to pair with our complimentary champagne the hotel offered for moms 85th and had ourselves a party. Let’s face it, the whole week was one ginormous party.

Then there was the accidental photobombing flashing incident in the pool and thats all I’m going to say about that. The Nelson women’s Vegas – the most fun you can have without being inebriated.

In the wee small hours of the morning when the whole wide world is fast asleep I tip toe through the shadows into my comfy chair to take a load off my feet and reflect on the remains of the day. Often when I slide into my chair I realize I have not stopped moving and standing all day and it just feels so darn good to sit down and sink into the chairs arms… thus the term ‘armchair’. And if you’re lucky enough to have a chair with arms that hug you, then you’re in heaven. Every muscle in my body was aching and I didn’t even know it. It’s been nonstop GO for the entire day. There is still more to do but I will have to leave that for another day as I don’t think I can move another inch. At this point even getting myself upstairs to bed is going to be a chore. Thus I linger just a while longer.

There is something private and deeply satisfying about being up while others are sound asleep in the same house. Something about snuggling into my comfy cozy chair by the fire when all is quiet and still with just enough illumination for me to sit and write. There is a peace and a clarity that helps me sort out issues that I can’t even focus on in the hustle and bustle of the day. I can hear the furnace air blowing sporadically , I have a load of laundry in that spins rythmically in the background and now it’s raining. Sounds of the rain pelting the deck- so soothing. Reminiscent of waves crashing the shore in the warm Kona night. I surrender to the nighttime as I pull my legs up on the chair under me to make myself small and unobtrusive.

As I study the flames from the fireplace flickering and dancing on the wall it occurs to me there is no other place I would rather be, in the home I share (on this particular night with my two kids and husband.) This is a rare occasion these days so I hold it close and cherish it. I know I shouldn’t be up compromising my immune system and making myself vulnerable to illness. But deep in the dark grey shadows are voices that urge me to stay, so I pause and I wait and I listen, for one more word, for one more lovely thing that the night might say.

0k already… I’m going to bed.

 

My sister Natalie and I were the only ones amongst us that had been to Las Vegas before. Calling it Las Vegas conjures up different images than the nickname ‘Vegas’ does. We showed our mom and sisters the Walt Disney Las Vegas as opposed to the CSI Vegas. The Las Vegas of Sammy Davis junior, Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. Not the Vegas of the ‘Hangover’ movie. We mostly stayed above ground and marveled at the magnificent manmade wonders and replicas of significant architecture and monuments from around the world. I mean, where else can you travel and take in the Eiffel Tower, the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, the pyramids of Egypt, the canals and gondoliers of Venice and the flower gardens of Japan all in one stop?

And the Grand Canyon. Let’s not forget the Grand Canyon made by the creator of the universe. Nothing fake about that.

We enjoyed culinary delicacies from some of the best restaurants and chefs thanks to Natalie who entertains clients in Las Vegas frequently. We shopped at the coolest (I’m talking temperature) and most upscale shopping venues. Then there was the decadence of staying at a resort hotel as we gathered around the pool area each day for 3-4 hours. This is where memories were made.

Flowers out of a vending machine? Only in Vegas. 24 hour Starbucks? Only in Vegas. $18USD pool drinks? Only in Vegas. 37 degrees on May 5? Only in Vegas. Water dancing 460 feet in the air to music? Only in Vegas.

But what was, in actuality, more amazing than these was the fact that all four of Ruth’s daughters (and one granddaughter) converged upon this marvel of man to celebrate and honour a special woman. Our mother. One from New Zealand, two from Toronto and three from Calgary. I’m convinced that this was a once in a lifetime event. Each daughter/sister set aside their daily routine and responsibilities and wholeheartedly jumped at the opportunity to honour mom this way on her 85th birthday. Sacrifices of time and finance became secondary to the common goal. Little did we know that in meeting together in Las Vegas not only would we bless our mother but we would renew the sisterhood. (Not of the travelling pants because there is absolutely no way one pair of pants would have fit each of us). But rather, we had an opportunity to experience each other as we are now. We are different women than the girls we knew as we were growing up in our parents home. Life’s experiences have molded and shaped us in ways we could never have predicted and it was a joy to connect with the glamourous, sophisticated and resilient women my sisters have evolved into.

Viva the Sisterhood.