The birds and the bees our way.

We’d hit the open road, more or less on time, and deeply puzzled by how the van had become so overflowing. Car trips with children, are at best, an exercise in hope and delusion. Yet there is no better way for a family to bond, laugh, discover together once stripped of schedules, routines, and creature comforts. Families grow together on road trips, and growing isn’t always pain free.

Our 2 kids were still small on this trip. Our oldest only six or seven. And we had just begun to understand just how much he (like every child) is capable of understanding. I am an educator but the wisdom and capability of children never ceases to amaze me. Overall our parenting style could best be described as a mix of ‘crash position’ and ‘going on gut instinct and figuring out how to pay for the therapy later’ So when his little voice, still so high and sweet and ringing out like bells, asked “Mommy, where did I come from?” I was caught off guard. I was flooded with bittersweet emotions. Wasn’t he still too young to hear this? Is lying about this a kindness meant to create wonder and joy, like Santa or the Tooth Fairy? We had never held back, he knew about pregnancy, he knew there was no stork, he knew the vocabulary like penis and vagina ….. he was obviously searching for more. I looked over at my husband, this man I loved so much, to find him trying hard to suppress a grin and pretend he hadn’t heard the question.

“Well” I stammered, “you know a man fertilizes an egg in a woman’s body and if conditions are right that fertilized egg can grow into a baby.”

“Yes” he said.

“OK, so a man and a woman can have sex, that’s what they do to fertilize the egg, and have a baby. It takes about 38 weeks to grow a baby in a woman’s uterus and then it is born through her vagina or sometimes a Dr has to cut into her body and take the baby out, that’s how you were born.” I was failing him, I knew it. There was so much more to say, so much more to ensure he understood the world as it is and could venture into it kindly and with empathy. “But when people don’t want to have a baby, there’s things they can do so they can still have sex and not have a baby. Because it’s nice to have sex. It feels nice. So people don’t just have sex to have babies.”

“Okaaaaay” he says.

I am now outside my body looking down at this woman trying so hard to impart a meaningful lesson to this boy’s earnest question. She continued on “but if someone wants to have a baby but can’t, or doesn't want to make one in their own body, they can adopt a baby. We have many friends and relatives who are adopted. Sometime a couple can’t have a baby, or sometimes a man or a woman would like to have a baby but don’t have a partner they want to create a baby with. Sometimes two men are a couple, and love each other, but their bodies aren’t able to make a baby together so they adopt a baby. Sometimes two women love each other and do the same thing, or they find a man to help them have a baby from one of their bodies. There’s so very many ways to make a family. Some families have one parent, some have two, some have step parents too. Some families have two moms or two dads, and some families are just grown ups and they don’t want children. There are MANY ways to make a family. But YOU, and your family …. We made you and your brother with our bodies. That’s how we made our family. I just really want you to understand that is not the only way to make a family.” I have poured as much love and honestly into these words as I could muster. I wish we had had a book, or a website, or a big cozy couch to curl up on as I shared all this, but we were in the car and this now and forever would be the place he took this step in his understanding. I hoped I had ‘nailed it’.

I looked over at my husband, this man I love, and he turned his face to me with the same perplexed, stunned, horrified look he gave me when our son, this same boy, first filled his little yellow sleeper full of poop all up the back and out the neck, and all down the left leg into the toes. His eyes, however, I’m pretty sure said “you nailed it.”

And what of my son? Had I overwhelmed him? Had I said too much? Enough? Was he understanding the over arching truth I was trying to convey? Was he ready to carry all this?

“Umm, Mom.” He said, in that sweet, light voice which still rang like bells. “Mom, Thank you. But what I meant was …….. I mean what I was wondering was ……. WHERE was I born?”

“Oh” I said. I am back in my body now and it weighs 9000 pounds. I am registering my husband’s laugh that he is trying to pass of as coughing and choosing not to hear or even look at him. “Victoria, honey. You were born in Victoria.”

“OK, thanks. I couldn’t remember.” He replied. His face so sweet, his heart so light, his world so unchanged ………… maybe I had managed to teach him all that, without saying all that, after all? My pride was only slightly bruised, and my heart was very full. Road trips are a place for growing together, or maybe just realizing you have already been growing that way all along.

Everybody poops

I sit on my kid's elementary school's parent council. We do a lot of good work raising funds to support kids, planning projects to support kids, supporting the staff and teachers who support kids. We plan some important things. We plan some fun things. We have some great successes. We have some failures too. We laugh. We think making the school a better place for kids is worth doing and we know that looks like a lot of different things. We try. We are not perfect.

Now, there is someone in the community saying we did not hear them when they asked us to "educate parents" about Bill 10 (the already passed Provincial Bill allowing for Gay-Straight alliances) and the newly proposed Provincial guidelines for best practice (which would create a province wide set of guidelines to help schools protect and respect students with diverse sexual orientations, gender identities, and gender expressions). They are bad mouthing our school. This person felt we should be "sharing" this news, even though we have never shared such information before. This person said they were sent to us by the Alberta Association of School Councils but the association will not even call us back to explain why they would want small volunteer based school councils to interfere with provincial politics. This person seems to think that their right to provide 'feedback' is somehow being trampled upon, and that we are failing in our duties by not championing the conversation around these policies. This person came loaded with a lot of fear based interpretations about unsanctioned adults suddenly having access to small children and kids starting clubs on ANY issue in an attempt to disguise the real reason they opposed. But that's no reason to fail to advance the rights of Alberta's LGBTQ population and expand our collective sense of what diversity looks like. This issue is about advancing human rights and that's not open to the court of public opinion. If we raise a flag (even at the urgent request of someone else) on this issue we risk singling out the very people this legislation is in place to protect; if we raise this flag we risk risk hurting them.

When I lived in Victoria, I subbed and volunteered frequently at a school called George Jay. The school was built in 1909 and named after the man who fought so ferociously in FAVOR of segregated schools, and who succeeded in pushing 100s of Chinese (and a handful of First Nation) students out of his namesake school (and all Victoria schools) in 1922. In fact, the September he won his motion (after getting himself re-elected School board chair), he had principals gather and publicly march the Chinese children to a dilapidated old "school" and there they were left ...... (http://chinatown.library.uvic.ca/chinese_public_school and http://www.openschool.bc.ca/bambooshoots/teacher/gr10/resources/L3/Story%20Sheet_Victoria%20School%20Segregation.pdf) And he had the public's approval every step of the way ...... but that does not make it alright.

About 20 years ago, this almost forgotten ugly bit of history (just one of so many, many ugly bits) resurfaced and there was brief talk of renaming the school ............ I still think they should have removed this man's name from the building forever. But a brilliant piece of truth was gleaned from it all, and that is 'what we hide, we forget'. And we must never forget what this man did, or else we risk repeating it. (As a wonderful side note, George Jay school is a thriving inner city school which boasts more diversity than perhaps any other school in the city ....... and old George Jay would have hated that. So somehow, perhaps, it is very fitting that the name stay).

So, what now of Bill 10, the bill passed in March and allowing for Gay-Straight alliances? And what of these new guidelines about to be enacted provincially which will simply institutionalize a wider range of 'ways of being' and allow for a more respectful environment for kids and staff who have previously been marginalized or worse? Well, on a personal note I’d like you to know that gay-straight alliances were already always happening. But before now they often were happening under bleachers, and just off school grounds and there was smoking and talking and laughing and much angst. It was always a bunch of marginalized straight girls, and a bunch of gay or bi or questioning boys, and a few really butch lesbians who were just so fucking cool. And they were always groups where kids could find safety, and the straight girls' Dads never minded (because it’s virtually impossible to get pregnant hanging out with a gay boy at school). The thing is NOW, these kids can meet and gather AT school, and a teacher can pop in and see if they have questions or need help or support. And now that can all happen and the school won’t and, more importantly CAN’T tell that young questioning, 2 spirited, or gay person’s parents what they’re going through (but if they want a safe way to tell them, the school can find someone to help, and if their family rejects them completely, the school can find services to help). Before ……… sometimes those kids just killed themselves.

And as for those non gender specific washrooms? Those devil pits of rape and assault and immodest display and dirty tom peepery? What if we just asked, and expected, everyone to use a bathroom for what it’s for and nothing else? What if we stopped body shaming? What if we stopped equating nakedness with sex? What if we stopped equating the presence of our various bits of genitalia as predetermined sexual invitation? What if we stopped trying to shove everyone into defined little boxes and then being surprised when there’s more than 2 boxes? What if we just set the bar high for behaviour and respect and stopped trying to set a bar at all for identity? What if we just let kids find their way, safely, and with respect? What if? Honestly, please remember that you don't have to exactly understand or completely empathize with something to know it can't hurt you.

So we, here at your school council, would like you to know that this is happening. https://education.alberta.ca/media/1626737/91383-attachment-1-guidelines-final.pdf Right now. And it is, apparently, our "duty" to inform you of this, even though we have never, ever, never ever,informed you of a single other bill before. So there you go. But just so you know, Edmonton Public schools has boasted policy in line with ALL of these guidelines since 2012.

https://www.epsb.ca/ourdistrict/policy/h/hfa-ar/ and the sky has not fallen and the kids are ok. And I couldn't be prouder to send my kids to them. So there ya go. 

At the end of the day, everybody poops. Everybody needs to use the bathroom and the rules for considerate, respectful, and safe bathroom use HAVE NOT CHANGED. Don't let those, who hate, scare you or fill your mind with doubt. Bathrooms are for peeing, pooping, and maybe a little small talk ............. and in the end I don't care who saves me from walking out the door with TP on my shoe. I just hope that they do.

Why women in Canada should argue in favour of another woman’s right to wear a Niqab to her Canadian Citizenship ceremony.

1.       We celebrate our multiculturalism until, sadly, we don’t. Traditional dress has long been a celebrated part of the Citizenship Ceremony. And it’s explicitly allowed. This isn’t the Oscars …… people get to dress themselves. http://www.cic.gc.ca/english/resources/tools/cit/ceremony/dress.asp

2.       Defrocking is oppressive. In our long a sad human history of conquering, enslaving, dehumanizing, and exterminating each other (over cultural, ethnic, religious, or geographical differences) women and children usually bear the worst of the humiliations. History is rife with the kidnappings, rapes, and murders of women. Women being used as fodder. Women being used as human shields. And then there’s all the defrocking we do to a conquered woman. Women prisoners are often stripped, and forced out of the familiar and safe comfort of their own garb. Often their hair is cut violently. Both are often done in direct violation of her beliefs and sense of modesty. Some of those humiliations may even make it impossible for her to ever return home. Forcibly defrocking a women is not liberation. It is an entirely new kind of oppression.  

3.       The public humiliation of women as a means to send a message is not ok. Within a culture women are often publically humiliated to send a message about the “norms” of society and noncompliance. Scarlet letters, stonings, town square barracks, public burnings and hangings …. All over things such as affairs, infidelity, pregnancy out of wedlock, abortion. But the man? Nope. Dragging a women out into the public eye and humiliating her for being different is a very effective tool. It’s cruel. It’s unfair. It is misogynistic. It is very very common throughout history and in most cultures. Common but certainly not OK.

4.       There is no “us” without “them”. Canada may have been founded philosophically by the French and the English, but they’ve never ever been the only game in town. The First Nations were here for Millennia before the English and the French. The Norwegians/Vikings too. Slaves were brought. There were Canadian slaves for a long time….. look it up. (And we enslaved First Nations people).  And although they were mostly of African origin, they represented a wide range of peoples. Canada may have been the infamous final stop of the underground railroad (and Canada had laws that no escaped or emancipated slave could be re-enslaved) but slavery wasn’t abolished until 1834 (in the states is was 1827). There is no real way to be sure of the number of people from non- French or non English backgrounds at the time of Canada’s birth in 1867 ……. But there was never an “us” without a “them” who were summarily dismissed and ignored. The notion of speak like us, dress like us, act like us, look like us or you will never belong and never be included is rooted in our history; and it is nothing to be proud of. Canada is full of stories about kids not fitting in because they were brown, because of their accent, because of their beliefs. It was conform or die. Many of them did. A first generation Canadian child growing up in my time was ashamed of their culture, hid their culture, lied about their culture, was called names because of their culture. Do you want to know why there were so many people from so many cultures around my parent’s holiday tables? Because my parents had the infinitely deep wisdom to accept all cultures. To value those differences and have curiosity about people's experiences. My parents felt honoured that they would share all those beautiful differences. How exceptionally lucky I was to grow up in that. How amazingly lucky we all were to meet all those perfectly perfect Canadians. How very simple it truly ended up being to make sure everyone felt safe and accepted. A Muslim friend I grew up with recently reminded me that on the morning of 9/11 my parents stood helplessly watching, just like most of us did. And in the absence of anything they could do to help anyone actually really involved, they did the next best thing. They dropped in on their Muslim friends and neighbours just to make sure they were ok. My parents sensed there would be dark days ahead, baseless assumptions and accusations, and a real tangible erosion in acceptance. So they invited themselves over for tea ……. Just to say “I see you for you. And I like who I see.”

5.       If it cannot be demonstrably proven as harmful then it is harmless. Regardless of how I feel about a Niqab. Regardless of how little I understand. I cannot truly say that it harms me. I cannot truly say that it harms her. So it is harmless. Let’s ALWAYS focus on behaviours and not attributes. We absolutely have a duty to define Canada by a set of corresponding rights and responsibilities. We absolutely have the obligation to support our most vulnerable and uphold equality as our most important value. We absolutely must stop all behaviours which harm others …….. but this is just an outfit. Let’s be really careful not to make the Niqab the visual equivalent of the KKK hood or the Hitler moustache. Because, let’s face it, very few of us understand it enough to cause it to be such an enduring symbol of female oppression.

6.       Old habits die hard. Let’s just simplify things a bit. My childhood neighbour wore a wig every day of her life (despite her being a beautiful person – inside and out) …. Almost to the end. She would have felt naked without it. My Mom permed her hair into the same haircut for over 40 years until her children and her friend who cuts her hair finally said “ENOUGH!!”. She still says it doesn’t feel like “her”. Anytime I ever try to dress up I end up near tears, saying that I’m “turning in my girl card as I fail at being a girl” and stuffing myself into yet another grey pair of slacks. Sometimes we wear what makes us feel comfortable. Sometimes we stick with what we know. It’s not a predictor of our worthiness or compatibility or ability or values. Sometimes it’s just about what makes us feel comfortable.

7.       There are many kinds of masks. The CCTFA (the Canadian Cosmetics, Toiletry, and Fragrance Association) reports that they are a 9.5 billion dollar industry in Canada. 9.5 BILLION. The Canadian Cosmetic and Esthetic surgery industry refuses to keep statistics. But it is unarguably a multi million dollar industry. Hiding the reality of who we are and what we look like is not exclusive of the Niqab. There is a conversation to have here. It’s important. Don’t be afraid to acknowledge it.

8.       People evolve. The beauty (the exquisite undeniable beauty) of a multicultural society is that it is not locked into anything. It has evolution and diversity built into its nature. When we draw some kind of arbitrary line in the sand loudly proclaiming “this far and no farther” it had better be important. It had better be about something that matters. Because if it isn’t important and it can’t be proven to fundamentally protect a person or group in need of protection, it’s going to get trampled over. Greeting the new women of Canada with the message “buckle up and ride hard because we have rights here” is very different from “I have arbitrarily and without understanding chosen this piece of clothing as a symbol of your trampled upon rights as a woman and I demand you give it up”. Let’s focus on the actual actions and subversions of women within a culture, or a family. Those we can define ….. but a hat, a veil, a dress and what those mean, not so much. The bottom line is that it is highly unlikely that the future generations will keep the Niqab. It will fall away as the subsequent generations find their place within a multicultural life that their parents didn’t know. Beautiful. But along the way, is it really so bad if they finally push back and keep the parts they love? The beautiful difference, the fabulous stuff they have to offer ….. or is what a Canadian looks like locked in? We too can evolve to accept more beautiful difference. Remember when the sky was going to fall if a Mounty wore a Turban? Turns out that it looks pretty darn fabulous and not a bit unCanadian. 

9.       Take a step back and see where we’re at, as women, in the here and now. Women don’t exactly have it all figured out here in Canada. Women in Canada earn, at best, 82 cents for every dollar a man earns in the exact same position and with the exact same education and experience; according to 2008 data. Our own official government data says 2008 data paints an even bleaker picture when broken down by position and full time vs. part time. See for yourself: http://www.parl.gc.ca/Content/LOP/ResearchPublications/2010-30-e.htm Many fear we have slipped; some saying even as low as 68 cents on the dollar but our current federal government has assured we can’t know by cancelling detailed census taking. In Canada 80% of sex crime victims are female. 1 in 4 Canadian women will be sexually assaulted in her lifetime (5.7 out of every 10 aboriginal women). Women make up roughly 50% of the population but are only 25% of the MPs in federal government (Afghanistan has 28%) http://data.worldbank.org/indicator/SG.GEN.PARL.ZS . Studies show that the vast majority of single parent households are headed by women and that at least 21% of them are raising their children in poverty. Women account for 60% of the minimum wage labour force and 70% of the part time work force. Anecdotally any working woman can tell you about the wedge being pounded in between full time vs part time. It’s rarely a choice. The lowest paying jobs only offer part time even if you want more. The better paying work only offers full time even if you’d like to have a little more balance between home and work. Mothers are allowed to the table only if full time; on an increasing basis the story is play with the big boys or go home and Mom … you don’t get to be both. Women with children consistently earn less than women without and have access to far fewer benefits. There are infinitely more measures of gender inequality here in this Nation. I have purposely NOT provided links because I want you to really look …… you won’t have to look long or hard. Just look at the roar of apathy over calls for meaningful inquires into the shocking number of missing and murdered First Nations women. Women aren’t celebrating equality yet in Canada and won’t be any time soon. Immigrants have nothing to do with our unfortunate gender gap and dismal record on the rights of women. Nor does one lady in a Niqab. We have done this all on our own.

10.   It’s just the right thing to do. Because there are far more important issues. Because there are real people really hurting. Because accepting this woman, who has chosen here above everywhere and anywhere else as her home, exactly as she is the right thing to do. And the right thing for her to do is to be the best, kindest Canadian she can be; and that has nothing to do with what she is wearing.

The NOISY neighbours.

To my parent’s neighbour,

Today, Sunday August 9^th, you came over around 5PM to let us know that the sound of our work was disturbing your family dinner. Now, you COULD have said the sound of our blade cutting brick was making it hard to enjoy a special family time and politely asked if we could stop. But that is not what you did. No, what you did was storm out of your family dinner to round the corner and pound on my parent’s front door and ring the bell repeatedly. We are sorry we did not hear you but we were all out back working. My son heard and ran to get the door but was so frightened by your behaviour that he ran back to get a grown up (which was the right thing to do). You then stormed over to the side gate to take a piece out of me.

 “It’s very loud…………”

“There’s a Sunday bylaw…………….”

“You’re disturbing our dinner……………”

I mumbled something about trying to finish my parent’s patio. I let you say your piece. I watched you storm off. And we stopped. We had worked very hard for many days and we were almost, at long last, finished. Many kind neighbours had been by over the days to help. It had become a neighbourhood project, and we were almost done. But of course we stopped. My parents felt bad. Then they, we all, felt hurt. Then angry.

And now? Now I just feel sad for you. You missed one heck of a chance to be a good neighbour, and to meet about the best neighbours a person could have. They ARE loud neighbours. Not just while relaying a backyard patio but all the time. They, my parents, have a big loud noisy life. And YOU could have been invited into it. See, my parents invite everybody IN. Into their home, and into their big LOUD messy busy noisy life. Over their 38 years in that house they have toiled to turn it into the home everyone can go to.

Growing up I hardly remember a time we didn’t have "company". Friends, family, even strangers have always found a welcoming roof over their heads, a warm bed, and full bellies when at my parent’s home. Sometimes they stayed a day …….. sometimes a year. They have hosted travelers from all around the world; weary strangers pointed in the direction of my parent’s home have found welcome and left as friends. They have always been a safe refuge for anyone needing a little support. They have a way of making everyone feel safe, supported, and welcome.

I think you really missed out on meeting them. Those noisy neighbours of yours. My parents. If you met them you would know that there is always room for one more at their table. That my Mom can roll out an amazing meal for 50 and make it feel like a small family dinner. That my parents can turn neighbours into family. That my parents have participated actively in the lives of the people of this community for 38 years. That my Dad has every tool and if you need to borrow it he will often follow you back home to help you use it. That my Mom bakes the best banana muffins. That my Dad knows more about the history of popular music than anyone I’ve ever met. That my Dad’s list of organizations he has volunteered his financial expertise for is very very long and still growing. That my Mom has the most beautiful and wild garden. That my Mom takes more people to the hospital than most ambulance drivers, because SHE is who people call first. That their home, for 38 years, is ALWAYS full of children. That dozens and dozens (and probably dozens more) of neighbourhood children have learned to swim in their pool. That my parents have this wonderful weird way of becoming surrogate parents anytime it’s needed. That they get back every good thing they put out and have this wonderful grateful, happy outlook on life. That they have great neighbours all around them. That they always think things can be made better for others and they are willing to help. They have joyfully shared in the ‘growing up’ of so many neighbourhood families and my parents always feel so honoured and blessed by it. That everyone in the neighbourhood knows they can call my parents at 3AM and find help if they need it. That they have been present in the lives of their neighbours through illnesses, births, tragedies, weddings, divorces, and deaths. That my Mom’s nursing background and exceptionally intuitive skills have been called into action, more times than anyone can remember, for everything from cuts to breaks to strokes. That my Mom and Dad have sat by and with neighbours on their death beds. That they have made sure the best care was given and the families felt safe and loved ………… because neighbours can be family too.

You should have come over and just asked ………….. because then you could have MET them. And they could have MET you. They are great neighbours. They are noisy GREAT neighbours.

*And for the record. The local Sunday noise bylaw and construction bylaw both say 7PM. We checked with 3 Police officers and a bylaw expert. One lives across the street from my parents. He’s their neighbour.

Can we just PLEASE stop freaking out over boobies and breastfeeding?

Good for this woman (link to her story below). I love what she did and said. I would only add (and it's not the first time I have said it) ..... CAN. WE. PLEASE. GET. OVER. THIS. Boobs and Babes are natural. If a woman chooses to breastfeed, then we should support her. If she doesn't, we should support her too. But a boob has never, ever, never burned out someones retina. It is not dangerous to look at, it is not Medusa. A boob can not turn you to stone. And NO woman feeding her baby should ever feel ashamed of her booby. If she CHOOSES to cover up, that is fine, but it should not be out of shame. It's just a boob folks, nothing to see here. I saw one in the mirror this morning, in fact I saw 2. Lucky me, to have kept both when some women face such serious health scares that they lose one or both. They were looking a little rough, were looking every bit their 42 years of age, were looking like they'd spent almost 4 years feeding babies, and they were looking pretty fiercely proud of all that. The world has never once failed to spin on her axis when anyone else saw them either.

Seriously, CAN WE JUST GET OVER THIS? I am proud of this woman. I am sorry if she felt even a moment of shame or self doubt because of that man. He had no right to judge her or her booby. I'd LIKE to say that all of this stems from some sort of misogynistic societal bias that boobs are only to be seen when perfect and for the pleasure of others ........... but that's only just a tiny part. It's honestly the, so called, first world's horrifyingly immature attitude about sex and willingness to view prudishness as morality. Somehow we have made sex, intimacy, and our bodies so ridiculously shameful that we think anything remotely related should never be brought out into the light or celebrated or VALUED. It's bad, and disgraceful, and unclean, and should only happen in dark, secret places .......... but bad things can happen and do happen in dark places. Now, I'm not advocating public fornication ......... but can we start evolving into human beings, who embrace their bodies, appreciate beautiful moments of human intimacy (like a Mother Breastfeeding her baby), and make wildly empowered, and respectful decisions about their relationships with their own bodies and the bodies of others - so we can have healthy, enlightened, and happy physical and sexual lives. Full and rich with comfort, and a profound knowledge of the value of touch, physical intimacy, and sexual enjoyment - and the gift of knowing most of the intimacy and love we crave and need (to be fulfilled human beings) isn't actually sexual at all ..... that part is just a bonus.

And in closing, might I simply add that everyone who continues to compare the "natural act" of breastfeeding to the "natural act" of peeing and pooing, as an argument against breastfeeding in public, deserves having someone leave a giant turd in the middle of their dining room table while they are eating ........... you know, to help them see the difference.

https://www.facebook.com/conner.kendall/posts/993428820669198:0

Young Dog and new tricks.

One of my greatest pet peeves is being treated like I'm stupid. I don't have all the answers; never have and never will. But I can piece together the fact that supporting a healthy, empowered, respectful, educated population isn't cheap and it isn't easy ........ but in the long term saves money and more importantly saves people. A society that creates broken, disenfranchised people will always COST, in every way. I feel the people of this country are craving a positive change.

So when a Political Party fear mongers and attempts to coerce support from Citizens, they should AT LEAST not assume those people are stupid. It's insulting ..... and shows an obtuse lack of paying attention to what has been going on. For instance, Alberta just voted in a government that (while it makes ME personally insanely pleased) I think they really chose simply because they were so very tired of being treated like they didn't see what was going on.

So now, in advance of the Fall Federal Election, The Federal Conservative Party is running the following ad (link at bottom of blog). In it they cherry pick some of Mr. Trudeau's positions and discuss how meaningless they are, and assume we, the voting public, can't Google Mr. Trudeau to find out his stand on not only these issues but a ton of other more weighty ones. They make comments about his hair, which in this day and age seems like the male equivalent of cleavage shaming a female politician, and they beat around the bush of "he's too young". Now, they don't actually say "he's too young", instead saying "he's not ready" but the impact is the same. And it's a glib attempt to point out Mr. Harper's "experience". But maybe they fail to see that many Canadians aren't loving the "Harper Experience" and just feel ignored ......... many of those Canadians are about the same age as Mr. Trudeau and we don't feel too young to feel sold out by an uncaring government. The Conservatives seem to have forgotten that.

Lastly, I need to point out the fact that Mr. Harper was first elected as Prime Minister at the age of 46 and Mr Trudeau will be 44 (almost 45) at the time of the election. 44 wouldn't even be the youngest Prime Minister in our history. In fact 8 of our 22 Prime Ministers have been under 50, so relative "youth" in politics is not unheard of. Mr Harper's people attacking Mr. Trudeau for his age seems pretty hypocritical and, again, assumes we are too stupid to google these facts. And isn't age just a number, anyways?

So I wish Mr. Trudeau very well and I hope his party doesn't follow suit with a negative campaign. I believe Canadians feel very tired of that. They want a little hope, honour, and kindness to hitch their wagon to. I, personally, tend to lean a little lefter than Mr. Trudeau but am waiting to see what kinds of campaigns are run before I decide. And to the Conservative Party, I'm 43 (a year younger than Mr. Trudeau) and I am old enough to use that wagon colloquialism, old enough to know that Canadians are being marginalized by their own Government, and old enough to know Mr. Harper won't have my vote.

http://www.conservative.ca/cpc/just-not-ready/?mpi=webpost&sig=220b1eb5&vpi=20150527a

Weaving myself into a Mother

I wrote this as a contest entry and it did not win. That's ok. I wrote it for me anyways. So onto the blog it goes.

There is an Indian proverb “The moment the child is born, the mother is also born.” That phrase resonated with me more than any of the others I've heard on the subject. How are we supposed to take these helpless, precious little creatures and weave them into happy, independent, and complete beings when we've just had to become a whole new person ourselves? And there’s no growth curve, it’s just BANG! Someone hands you this new life, fresh from your body or adopted from someone else’s and says “Congratulations Mommy.” For me, it was the happiest and scariest day of my whole life.

Thinking back, I was deliriously happy but very confused about the kind of Mother I would be, could be, or should be. That’s when I felt the first tug on that invisible thread pulling me back to my own childhood. I have always been close to my mother and am so very lucky to have her in my life. I had never felt more connected to her before, nor more in awe. It was as if I had suddenly stepped through the looking glass and could now see a glimpse of the world through her eyes. All those little wisdoms she had tried to pass on before were suddenly translated into ‘Aha!’ This new, deconstructed woman I had just become was so unexpectedly open to hearing it all. I became aware of all the other threads connecting me to other Mother figures, and Mothering Mentors in my life (some here, some gone, some only part of an oral history from my family’s past) grounding me in this work of motherhood too. In those first days of Motherhood all this happened intangibly, yet I began to stitch together myself into a Mother while weaving a bond with my son at the same time. I have anchored him to me through a sort of invisible umbilical because I am, simply, his Mother. I can feel that bond as physically as I feel my smile or heart, and although creating the bond with my second son was different it is just as strong.

The years while they were young felt very hard at times, and I made so many mistakes but my Mother, and all those Mothering threads I am tethered to, kept reassuring me and filling me with innate truths. “Let them see you angry. People get angry.” “Your children shouldn’t think you’re perfect.” “It’s supposed to be that colour.” “He didn’t invent that, you know.” “No one even notices the mess.” “Don’t worry, he won’t go to college in diapers.” “No, he’s not going to die.” “Don’t wish your time away.” So I tried to remember to stop waiting for the ‘hard part’ to be over and take enjoyment as it came, because something in those Mothering threads told me that there was no ‘easy part’ coming.

Now my boys are 12 and 9 years old respectively. I am learning, slowly, that I now have to start cutting the threads of their umbilicals. Knowing which strands to cut, and when, is difficult and fraught with misstep and worry; so much worry. Helping them take steps into responsibility, independence, and self-sufficiency is full of so much drama and plentiful assertions of: “you’re the worst Mom ever!”. I suspect 'giving birth' to kind, peaceful, happy men will be as painful as delivering them into the world as babies. I feel the ache of every cut thread and worry the ones I’ll leave intact won’t be strong enough to hold.

My Mother always says “healthy birds leave the nest.” I don’t know what that means as much as I feel what that means. So I try to weave that wisdom into every day and into every thread I let loose between my sons and myself. If I don’t mess it up too badly, I think they will fly.