Little Encouragements

Lately there have been little ways where God has been encouraging me, reminding me that He is there with me all the time and He will provide all  my needs (not wants, as much as I wish it sometimes were, otherwise I would not have fruitlessly wandered around in the rain  an hour ago at various places I had been yesterday looking for my lost hubcap when it was nowhere to be found, but alas I am well provided for, but do not live a "charmed" life). Many of these encouraging words have come from a new devotional book that I bought from Amazon, written by this lady. It has been hard to stop at just one encouraging story each day, but I do have to pace myself.  Other times the encouragement comes in other ways.The biggest compliment I've received in a long time came from the mouth of a 5 year old. Luke had something he found in his room, I can't remember what, but it was something like an old sunday school craft. He was getting rid of old stuff (a habit obviously not learned from me) and he offered it to me because as he explained "you like that Jesus stuff". It seems like a simple, offhanded comment, but as a parent trying to teach my children in the way they should go, it was high praise!

Some of these little "words" of encouragement may seem silly, but I guess I'm a little silly, so God has to speak my language. Like the balloon that Toby got in sunday school on Easter, just a simple latex balloon (I requested his favorite orange colour on his behalf as they were passing them out). On the balloon was a cross and beneath it "He Lives". That balloon floated right up to the ceiling for nearly 2 full weeks and at the 3 week mark, it no longer floated up, but still stood upright, making it easy to read. It may not be much, but every morning when I woke up and saw those words, I smiled and it was just the reminder I needed.

Yesterday, while the boys were in preschool I went grocery shopping, and I decided to go to Superstore to do it. Now although most things are cheaper there, the shopping carts are not, and I have more than once gotten to the parking lot and discovered that I do not have a loonie in my bag. Yesterday was much the same, except that other than a few pennies and a nickel, I had no money...don't judge, but I spent my last twoonie on a slurpee, which I SO did NOT need, just an hour earlier in total ignorance of the fact that I would need a grocery cart very soon.

So although I was no longer thirsty, my "to buy" list was long and even 2 handbaskets would not suffice. I needed a cart. I searched the glove box, the console and every other nook and crannie of that van thinking that there must be the much needed coin somewhere.Nil, nada, zip zilch. There was nowhere nearby that I could think of to get a loonie, and I was running out of time. So in desperation I threw my reusable bags into my bag and strolled confidently to the cart return area, thinking "surely there will be a cart sitting loose"...okay I don't have that much faith, more like "please, please, please let there be a cart sitting loose, even a renegade Walmart cart that has wandered far from home would suffice". Nil, nada, zip zilch. So as I'm walking into the store (fruitlessly scanning the parking lot for strays, and debating on shoving a woman into the just loaded trunk of her car so I can abscond with her cart...I may be a Christian, but I still get tempted), there's a cart resting up against an old pick-up in the handicap parking. In the truck is a man who asks me if I need a cart.

Now this may not be as amazing or incredible as some of the stories I've heard where a Christian needs something really expensive and gets cash left in her mailbox for the exact amount, or where someone needs something specific that may not be super common to give away and that exact item is left on their doorstep. A shopping cart in a parking lot doesn't have nearly as much pizzaz, but this blog entry is about encouragements, not full out miracles. I'm not in need of some huge miracle, just a little encouragement...and a new hubcap.

RV owners

My childhood vacations were spent camping. I don't remember ever tenting it until the annual College and Career Group camping weekend with my church friends as a young adult. We had a tent trailer. I still remember the momentus day that our family bought that first tent trailer. We were driving home to Pinawa from a trip into Winnipeg, and by the side of the road, in all it's green glory, was a teeny little trailer with a for sale sign. It must have been cheap, because my parents bought it on the spot. I don't remember if we ever went on any vacations prior to that day, but I sure remember the ones after. A few years later we were over at family friends' place (enjoying a hot summer day, swimming in their pool) and in the driveway was a tent trailer. It was bigger (although just about anything was bigger than our little green one) and it had a stove and a sink that swung outside and back in so you could cook or wash dishes wherever you pleased (that was my favorite feature). My brother and I were starting to get to that age where sharing a bunk was rife with arguing an elbowing, so upgrading to a bigger model where the table converted into another bed was really just a matter of survival on their part. The couple who owned it had grown children and wanted to downsize. They had set the trailer up to start getting it ready to sell. My parents made arrangements to buy it on the spot.

We had many good trips in both those tent trailers.And I've always thought that one day, we'd buy a tent trailer of our own.That day was yesterday. My husband has been casually scanning kijiji and other sites looking at what's out there as far as trailers go. Most were sold before we even had a chance. Then one came up for a 17ft hybrid that is small enough for our minivan to tow (once we actually get a towing package installed that is). Bruce contacted the owners and I contacted my dad, who studied up on the model and scoured the internet for other options. He called back saying "it sounds like a GOOD deal". We took our trailer inspector (aka Dad) with us out to Carman yesterday evening to look things over. Bruce got the nod from the inspector and started wheeling an dealing. Luckily, I was able to keep busy with the kids. Not only am I not good at haggling, but I'm downright uncomfortable with it. I'm the type of person who's most likely to blurt out something along the lines of "we'll pay you double your asking price" not because I'm rich, but because I feel like I'm cheating people to ask to pay less.I'm the type who hates being the only person in a store or at a garage sale, because I feel like I'm insulting the salesperson by walking out empty-handed. Needless to say I hid behind the car door pretending to help Toby with his snack (while feeling guilty that Bruce was trying to not completely empty our bank account and possibly insulting this elderly couple in the process) until I saw the handshake. But in the end we bought it. And I can't wait to get it home and then out somewhere with trees and firepits.

20 Little Reasons to be Happy

19 days ago, Joyce's blog started 30 days of Happy. She challenged other to share their happiness. I've been busy marking papers and completing student evaluations for my "part-time" job as a nursing instructor. Believe me, finishing those is reason enough to shout from the mountaintops (until 5 weeks from now when I'll be doing them again). Now it's time to catch up and give some of my reasons for being happy lately...
1. Snowmen and the fact that I see this one every time I look out my kitchen window.

2. Helpers with the baking (okay this doesn't always make me so happy).

3. That my in-laws are pretty darn great.

4. And so are my parents.

5. Bubble baths.

6. Being able to bake birthday cakes rather than having to buy them.

7. That Luke's teachers are ecstatic that he is finally coming out of his shell.

8. That despite the teacher saying that they could, Luke did not want the germ-infested stuffed bear, that every snotty preschooler in his class takes a turn bringing home, sleeping in HIS bed. (and that my parents were gracious enough to keep enough of my old junk that we could get suitable accommodations for dear Brownie Bear).

9. That once in a while I can make myself feel good by giving my kids something that I always wanted but never got, as rare as those things are.

10. Whipping cream

11. A dog who doesn't mind being used as a prop.

12. A not-so-productive morning that produced a couple big smiles and a straw house that would make the three little pigs jealous. (and as much as I hate to admit it, those matching pajamas also make me happy).

13. Happy meals and subs (no cooking, yet everyone actually eats).

14. The miracle that after buying one of those little plastic brick-makers on clearance last spring, I actually remembered where I put it this winter.

15. That they don't ALWAYS fight.

16. Laughter.

17.NO MORE DIAPERS!

18. Tonight's date with my smallest boyfriend. Snuggling up on the couch to watch a new Thomas video from the library while I allow both of us to stuff our faces with Cheesies, M&Ms, jujubes and Shirley temples, (while everyone else is at the Moose game).

19.This face.

20. This face.

My first Christmas without her

I did pretty well this Christmas. No crying in the service when we attended my grandparent's church for the Christmas Eve candlelight service that she loved so much. I held back the tears when my mother opened the "Tree of memory" glass ornament I gave her. I wanted so much to give her what she really had wanted, but what can you do when you ask your mom what she wants for Christmas and all she can tell you in a quiet, shaky voice is "I want my mom back"? I held myself together at the big family gathering where her absence was as obvious as a big gaping wound despite everyone's eforts to press on with the festivities. Luckily I was alone in the car every time I heard this song on the radio, because I lose it every single time.



And it was just November past
She said goodbye, and breathed her last
And the great grandchildren miss her so
But if she could she would let them know …
This is my first Christmas
First time to hear the angels sing
Glory, hallelujah to the risen king
And a holy night is what this is
‘Cause this is my first Christmas
This is my first Christmas.
-excerpt from "My First Christmas" by Carolyn Arends. 

December frenzy

I thought Christmas was busy enough last year. This fall I accepted a second job as a "clinical facilitator" which roughly translates into bringing wide-eyed nursing students into the hospital and trying to let them do nurse-things while trying to prevent them from damaging the children we are trying to help heal. It's been a busy term juggling students between my regular job days where I get to do the work myself (instead of standing by cringing).  And home life is just as busy as ever. - Hence the lack of blog entries these last months.

But now add the Christmas rush, the decorating, the buying gifts, the baking (which used to consist of a carefully planned list of quadruple batches of 8 different recipes to provide my family with platters and my mother with a freezer stocked, as well as tins for relatives, now not even requiring a slip of paper - how hard is it to remember shortbread and gingerbread?). That would be busy enough, but lucky me the school term happens to end at Christmas meaning slogging through and marking the last of the student papers, filling out in-depth 15 page evaluations on each student, and scheduling meetings to break the news of how they did just in time for Santa.

I love tradition. Already bought all the candies for decorating the gingerbread house that I have to make sure we get around to baking. Already decided what the boys should wear to see Santa at the mall...


Bruce took the dog (and the boys) to the pound to get Rita a Santa picture for a fundraiser one Saturday while I was working. It was a picture for Rita, but the couch was big enough for them all. I like the tradition of going to Polo Park and getting the pre-requisite picture of the boys with the ornate background and the Santa with a real beard, but this year I'm just going to have to resist my anal tendancies and say good "enough".

What is a GOOD bye?

My grandmother is dying. I'm terrified that she won't make it until we get to see her today. Yes, I've told her I love her, but I haven't actually said Good Bye yet. I know where my Nannie is headed. I know that she is ready and more than willing to go. We've talked about it so many times over the last months. But now, as I face saying Good Bye to the woman who has been my example and impacted my life to the point where I owe her everything, because I know my faith began because of her, I can't bear the thought of not having her here.
I thought I was doing well with this, I knew she wouldn't last long. But there was that part of me, knowing that she likely wouldn't make it until Christmas, but still hoping that the boys could make her one last Christmas ornament, that maybe we could make her gingersnaps this year and bring them to her so she can see how part of her will carry on. For all the baking I do, and how I can impress with my fancy cheesecakes and scones, I still can't get her gingersnap recipe to go right. That's my favorite memory of her, the two of us in her kitchen baking gingersnaps. But I know even if she made it through Christmas, it wouldn't make it any easier, I'd just find another reason for her to stay.
I keep reminding myself that this is what she wants. She wants to go home, she's been ready since my grandfather died last year. I know wishing her to stay is utterly and completely selfish on my part, but I can't help it. And there's that part of me that hopes she dies soon after we say goodbye. I know she wants it, and I don't want to see her suffer any more. And I read back over the words I've typed and I see I's all over the place. Once again, I've made it all about me.
Whenever I visit her, she goes on and on about how proud she is of me, and how happy she is that her granddaughter has found the Lord. She talks about her great-grandsons being raised in a Christian home, and how important that is.She thanks me for little tiny things that I've done that she's already thanked me for several times.She faces death like it's no big deal and goes on and on about me picking her up one day when she didn't have a ride. I need to learn some of that selflessness. So today I will take my family in to say good bye, and hopefully today she will be the selfish one, to take our love without feeling like she needs to give anything back. She has given more than enough for one lifetime.

The Curse of the Nurse.

My parents let us use their trailer at the lake for a few days as a vacation. It was fun, except for all the fun parts.


Walking along the docks trying to catch minnows, leaning over the sides with the nets. Thinking about the near drowning kids I see at work. And panicking when Toby manages to pry his hand clear of mine and take off running down the docks.

Catching a painted turtle on a minnow hunt,and while my kids lean in to get a better look at him on the dock, my mind flashing to a nasty turtle bite I've seen.









Being down at the beach and wanting to help build the canals and waterfalls, but scared to get too involved and taking my eyes off them, because I know that even in shallow water kids can drown.

Sitting around the campfire, roasting marshmallows and making s'mores. Holding my breath every time one of the kids gets up to walk around the fire, remembering kids who lost their footing and ended up with burned hands and bums and faces that come into the hospital every summer and are often stuck there until fall, enduring painful dressing changes and skin grafts that never look quite "normal" again.

I'm trapped between wanting my kids to have a wonderful full childhood, packed with memories and experiences, and wanting to lock my children in rooms with padded walls and soft low furniture to keep them safe.

I'm used to the eye rolls and "well you turned out okay" when I make a comment on safety to my parents who often take care of my children. Never mind the fact that my mother did a brief stint as a teenaged candy-striper and saw one unlucky motorcyclist,and spent years ranting to us children that she never wanted us on motorcycles. My husband knows better than to question my judgment, but even he can't understand, because he hasn't seen the horrible life-changing things that can happen in the blink of an eye. Granted, I don't see all the kids who go for a snowmobile ride and come back with smiles and happy memories. I just see the broken limbs, internal injuries, and the families that the ones who aren't going to make it are leaving behind. I have another friend with whom I've worked at the hospital who's now a mom and now getting the eye-rolls as well. So, I'm lucky that I have someone in my life who understands.

So, no, my children aren't allowed outside while the grass is being cut. No, they can't put another log on the fire. No they can't ride in the back of the pick-up truck (even though I did on a busy highway as a teen several times and somehow I "turned out okay"). No, they aren't allowed to play on a trampoline. No, they aren't allowed to skateboard, bike or rollerblade, even for a minute, even on the quietest of streets, unless they have a proper fitting helmet strapped on their head. No, they aren't allowed on an ATV, dirt bike or snowmobile, even to do a quick test drive on an empty back lane. You may find something here unreasonable, and probably things will change as they get older(and more responsible, she says with her fingers crossed), but if everyone saw what I do at work there'd be a whole lot more children walking to school dressed up like hockey goalies.