by Heather Plett | Nov 29, 2005 | Uncategorized
For years now, I’ve tried hard not to plan anything on Monday nights. “The kids need transition time,” I say. “It’s the first day back into the routine, so they’re often a little out of sorts.”
Tuesday is fine, Wednesday is fine – any other night of the week is okay, but don’t mess with Monday. We barely venture out of the house.
Well, last night, the kids were all happy and having fun with each other, and it occurred to me, as I barked at them for completely harmless behaviour, that maybe it’s just ME! I’M the one who’s grumpy on Monday nights and needs the transition time! Not THEM! They’re adjusting fine, and often complain of boredom on Monday nights because “Mommy won’t do anything.”
Gulp. Guess I’d better stop blaming them!
Anyone want to do stuff with my kids on Monday nights? I need a little time to myself… 🙂
by Heather Plett | Nov 28, 2005 | Uncategorized
The (almost) last frontier
The last room in the battle against clutter has been conquered. A couple of weeks ago, after I’d finished the laundry room makeover, we had an unfortunate event that required a plumber to need access to the main drain hole in the basement. It just so happens that the main drain hole is in the floor of the tucked-away corner of the basement where old things go to die. It was full to overflowing with all kinds of things – baby stuff we don’t need anymore but wanted to keep for ccap and her boy, a toilet that we thought we’d eventually use if we turned that room into a bathroom, scrap pieces of wood, our christmas tree, the guitar Marcel dreams of learning to use, etc., etc.
It’s taken me about 2 weeks, but I finally finished sorting through it all this weekend. Now there’s only one small, neatly piled, stack of stuff I can’t bear to part with (I can’t ENTIRELY let go of all things sentimental, so I saved one box of old letters, playbills from some of the plays I’ve been involved in, etc. After all, some day I might be famous, and they’ll need SOMETHING to dig through to write my memoirs), one stack of things that ccap and her boy don’t have room to store at their house, the christmas tree, the guitar (maybe when he’s finished school, Marcel will have time to learn :-), and a bit of sporting equipment.
Now there are only a few more areas of my house that require attention: the hall closet, the drawers in the armoire in the living room, the drawers of my night stand, the top shelves of Julie and Maddie’s closets, the bookshelf beside the computer, and a few places that need a bit of a second go-round – wow the list is getting pretty short! By Christmas time, I’ll be able to celebrate a renewed house! My GOSH, I had no idea how good this would feel!
No more toys
Perhaps because she’s been watching me get rid of so much stuff, Maddie decided to join the parade. On Saturday she pointed to her toy box and said “Mom, I’m THREE years old now. I don’t NEED toys anymore.” She was quite determined I haul them out of the house, but I put her off for awhile because I wasn’t sure she’d feel the same by Sunday. Sure enough, on Sunday, she was back in the toy box, playing with her toys.
Room of many colours
I’ve been promising to paint Nikki’s room for quite some time now. She has a vision of walls of 4 different colours – lime green, blue, yellow, and orange. Some people would think I’m crazy, but I’m quite willing to go for it – once I can find the time. I’ve always liked a bit of colour, and I like to encourage creativity in my kids. I was worried about finding the right shades that would work together. I was quite excited this weekend, though, when I found the duvet covers I’d made when her and Julie lived in the sky blue room with hot air balloons on the wall (that’s now Maddie’s) – all four of the colours she wants are in the stripes of these duvet covers. Yay! They’ve still got plenty of use in them, and I think I still have enough leftover fabric to make a curtain and possibly a cushion cover. Ooohhh… I’m getting that old familiar “decorate the house” vibe that shows up every six months or so!
And they’re not even teenagers yet!
This weekend seemed to be the weekend for heartache. Not mine, but my two oldest daughters. First it was Julie – crying herself to sleep because she HATES being the middle child. She gets picked on by her older sister, she gets hand-me-down clothes, she gets overlooked by her parents, she gets less attention than her little sister, etc. Sadly, I have to admit that she’s not all wrong. She’s a fast learner, so we don’t have to spend as much time with her, and she doesn’t require as much emotional energy as either of her sisters do. She’s the one who craves the most attention, so because I need a little more space than she provides me, I often push her away. Yeah, sometimes she gets a bum rap. In an effort to make her feel special, I baked cookies with her on Sunday – she LOVES to bake, and almost always ends up being the only one in the kitchen when there’s baking going on.
Then it was Nikki’s turn. She was having trouble with her multiplication homework and it makes her feel stupid, so the tears started to flow. She was particularly troubled because Julie finds schoolwork so easy. It’s tough being the oldest child when your younger sister can whiz through school work (and piano) with barely an effort. She gets tired of hearing Julie brag that she’s read ALL of the Harry Potter books, and hearing people proclaim how impressed they are. So I sat through the second set of tears, trying to think of the right words to ensure my daughters they are special, talented, and loved.
Sunday lunch
We had friends over for lunch on Sunday, and I made some very yummy soup (if I do say so myself) – corn and bean chowder, and peanut tomato vegetable. Yum, yum, yum. We’ve done this a few times now – made a couple of pots of soup on Saturday night, and then invited friends for lunch after church. I think we’ll do it more often. It reminds me of growing up – we almost always had people over for lunch when we were growing up. We went to a small country church, and there were often visiting speakers (we went for years without a pastor). Since my dad was primary leader (deacon) it usually fell to him and mom to entertain.
The best way to do Christmas shopping
I have successfully convinced my daughters that the BEST STORE IN THE WORLD is Ten Thousand Villages, an international fair trade store that sells interesting stuff from all over the world. It’s not far from our house, so it’s a favourite Saturday afternoon destination. Last year, they each got to pick an international Christmas ornament from there, and now they’ve convinced me it’s a “tradition”. So we went there Saturday, and, in addition to picking their ornaments, they pointed out what they wanted for Christmas. Yay! I think I can do ALL of my Christmas shopping in one store – and it’s a funky fair trade store to boot! (Marcel – hope you don’t mind getting a bag of fair trade coffee for Christmas 🙂 I have to say – it’s kinda fun shopping with the girls and having interesting conversations about why it’s better to buy stuff THERE than at Wal-mart!
by Heather Plett | Nov 24, 2005 | Uncategorized
Fifty resumés sit on my desk waiting to be reviewed. Fifty hopeful people are waiting for my call.
I sit here staring at them, knowing full well that I will disappoint forty-nine people. Only one person will get the job, forty-nine will not. Some of them (maybe 10 or so) will get their hopes raised even further when they’re invited for an interview. But then 9 or so will have those hopes dashed.
They’re probably all wonderful people, those 49 – with skills, abilities, and personalities. Several of them could probably do the job equally well. But in the end, only one will get the chance. Only one will rise to the top. It may not be the best one – it may only be the one who’s managed to impress us the most. That’s the way it goes, though, you can only make choices based on your own impressions.
That’s alot of weight on my shoulders. It’s why it’s not always fun to be a manager.
To those 49 people – I apologize in advance. Try not to take it personally.
by Heather Plett | Nov 23, 2005 | Uncategorized
There’s a whole lot of LIVIN’ going on too! If my blog is starting to depress you, well then hop on over to ccap’s blog for some awesome pictures of my cutie-pie niece! She’s photogenic already – which is a good thing, because her mother was born with a camera attached to her face, and she’s not the only shutterbug in the family!
No really… run along. I won’t take it personally if you leave me. But come back soon – I promise I’ll stop posting about dead people soon.
by Heather Plett | Nov 22, 2005 | Uncategorized
Something strange happened to me today. Recently, when Peanut was born, Marcel hauled the cradle out of storage thinking Peanut could be its next occupant. Partly because CCAP and her boy didn’t need it, and partly because I felt obligated to return it to its rightful owner, it stayed in our house.
Ten years ago, the cradle made its way into our home. It was leant to us by Ed, a man I worked with at the time. “You can use it as long as you need it,” he’d said, with a twinkle in his eye, “but I may want it back some day if I have grandchildren.” His sons were in high school and university at the time – they weren’t even CLOSE to thinking about children.
Last night, I tried to phone Ed. I looked up his name in the phone book, and tried the number I thought might be his. I got a recorded announcement. Today, I phoned Suzanne, a friend of mine who still works in the place Ed and I worked ten years ago (he’s since retired), thinking she might be able to help me track him down.
“Strange you should call now,” said Suzanne. “I was just at Ed’s funeral. He died last month. He had a heart attack and died on his kitchen floor.”
Odd. I’ve had that cradle for 10 years, and for nearly 3 it has sat in our basement waiting to be returned. Why would I suddenly try to get in touch with Ed, after years of being out of touch with him, only a few weeks after he died?
I don’t think Ed even made it to sixty. I wonder if he ever had grandchildren.
I liked Ed. He was one of those affable people who’s fun to have around. He always had a joke up his sleeve, and usually, a smile on his face. For a short while, about 13 years ago, he was my boss. Later he became my colleague – my equal. I’m not sure why, but he used to call me “Heather-bell”. He was kind and generous. Life hadn’t always been kind to him – he’d lost his wife a few years before and had to raise his 2 sons alone. Early in our friendship, however, we shared a common experience – he was getting married around the same time I was.
In a strange way, Ed played a rather pivotal role in my life. It was from his lips that I first heard the term “World Wide Web”. His son was in university at the time, and he’d come home raving about something called the world wide web, where you could go onto a computer and look up stuff from all over the world. Ed had seen it with his own eyes. The university students at the time were dreaming about all that this might mean for the future – their future and the world’s.
Funny how this conversation stands out in my mind. I must have looked at him in disbelief. World Wide Web? What in the world was that? How could computers communicate with each other? And even if they could, what good would it do? Even as I asked the questions, though, I sensed that this was something important – which is probably why I remember the conversation.
Now here I am, only about 12 years later, and the world wide web has indeed changed our lives. This blog attests to that. Who’d have thought, when we first heard of the wonders of the internet, that just a few short years would see us all posting journal entries, shopping, researching, sharing pictures, and chatting online? Only 10 years ago, our first baby was born and made her way into that cradle. The only way we could share pictures with loved ones was through the mail. Now, a few short hours after my niece was born, I could e-mail her picture all over the world.
The cradle that Ed leant me now sits in my bedroom, reminding me of the passages of time. Two of Ed’s babies and three of mine have rested their little heads on its cushion. And now, its original owner has gone to meet his maker. The cradle hasn’t changed much in that time, but the world has. Those five babies who slept in that cradle face a different reality than we did when we were their age. I don’t know if it’s better or worse – just different.
When I watch my children fearlessly surf the world wide web, with the assumption of youth – that this is the only way it’s ever been, I wonder what kind of passages their lives will see.
Addendum: I just found Ed’s obituary on-line. It turns out he was sixty-two. It doesn’t look like he had any grandchildren yet. Too bad. He would have been an awesome Grandpa.
by Heather Plett | Nov 21, 2005 | Uncategorized
Marcel called this afternoon. “He’s gone,” he said. Just those 2 simple words. How could 2 simple words mean so much? Shouldn’t it take more that 2 words to communicate such a weighted message?
Uncle Lionel is gone. His life has ended. Seventy-eight (I think) years of living, loving, working, playing, parenting, grandparenting, sleeping, eating, crying, talking, driving a school bus, singing, smiling – over. Just like that. One last breath, and then it’s over.
Another family has lost their dad. Another woman has lost her husband. Another group of children have lost their grandfather. My mother-in-law has lost her brother. It happens every day. People die. It’s almost routine – each week the newspaper is full of death notifications. But for this family, it only happens once – today. No other day will be like today. No other feeling in their lives will come close to preparing them for what they will feel today.
I sit in silence and think of them – this family who is suffering loss. I think of them, and the tears form in my eyes and the lump forms in my throat. I know what it’s like to say good-bye to the man called “Dad”. I know what it’s like to lose someone who has a unique set of memories, a unique perspective, and unique wisdom that you can never turn to again. I know the tears that form on your pillow when you long for just one more chance to touch his age-worn hand, or see the twinkle in his eye, or hear his voice. I know the gasp of pain when you see other children in a supermarket call out to their Grandpa and then run to grasp his hand. I don’t know what this family has suffered, watching their father deteriorate like he has, but I know what it feels like when he’s gone.
Good-bye Uncle Lionel. You will be missed.
