Old Age

Old age appeared like a puff of grey smoke. She thought I wasn’t paying attention. Indeed I was not paying her much attention. I was nursing my baby Fira in the dark and strategically holding a cellphone, watching Netflix, so I wouldn’t disturb her with the light. The show was on mute but I was engrossed, ignoring my senses.

Old Age poked her head in, slid in. At first she was meek and shy moving about. It reminds me of when you open your friends door to her house and call out. No one answers but you walk in anyway checking each room to see if your friend is there, seeing how she has decorated and adorned each room.  This is Old Age. She spent the early days investigating the new space. Seeing what I have done with the place.

Three years later she has made herself comfortable on the couch. I think Old Age is in pajamas. Hanging out. Waiting to get called into action. She is leaving dishes around the place, not vacuuming or picking up her things. It is getting a bit annoying. I have not asked her to clean up. I pretend she isn’t there right now. Soon though. We need to talk and take action.  Her presence reminds me that things are going to change soon.


Happy Birthday

It is dark. My eyes have no need to open yet but I know it is dark. I hear Craig’s light breathing. He is still in bed so it is before 6:30 a.m. Today is my birthday. I don’t want to be aware today. I want to keep myself separate from the day. I will acknowledge happy birthday greetings but I don’t want it to stop me. Today feels like a day that could stop me. Cake and happy birthday songs seem like a halt in my energy. I need to keep moving. This is a strange thing to say because I don’t feel I have being physically moving very much at all. Some part of me must be, because I feel I don’t want to stop.

My cell phone is resting beneath my shoulders, tucked between my mattress and the frame of the bed. I reach for it and check messages. A few happy birthday greetings already via Facebook and some private messages.

The temperature, minus 22 degrees Celsius. I seem happy to see 22° on the 22nd of February. I feel it’s a good omen for all these twos on my 42nd birthday.

I feel the need to get up. I roll over. My shoulder and lower back and neck resisting the movement. I push myself up, my body pinches and a quick flash of pain spans my body. I walk to the door, feeling for the softness of my pale pink housecoat I wrap it around me and feel an instant soft warmth.

Quietly I open the door and slip out into the Hall closing the door behind me. The bathroom with the scale is just the next door down but as I slowly walk there my thighs rub against each other and I am caught off guard by how uncomfortable it is. They are rubbing into each other so deeply. What pain. I must walk with my legs apart. This is new. They have been rubbing together for a long time causing me to wear pants all the time but this is worse.  This is much worse.

Today I’m going to weigh myself. It feels like a beginning. A begining where I try to care. Where I try to take action on my life. I want to know how I’m beginning this year. I go pee and pull out the scale.

Weight is 172lbs.

Waist is 39 in.

Hips are 41 in.

Chest is 37 in.

While I measure my head is still seeing the number 172. I’m a 172 lbs! I can’t believe it. I never thought I would ever be this heavy unless I was pregnant.

Today’s the day I begin my journey. I need to get healthy again. I need to find my strength. I am so internally lazy that I don’t even care about my weight or pick up a pen laying on the floor. I ignore it all.  Today is the day. It is time to take control of my life. Kettlebells and yoga. Here I come. I miss thin me. I miss the me that could move and not be in pain. I miss the me that coloured on my father’s bald head. I miss the me that was spontaneous, fashionable, fun. It is time for me to find these versions of me and bring them back.

“Wanting to be someone else is a waste of the person you are.” – Kurt Cobain

I need to celebrate who I am. I came to this version of me for a reason but it is now time to go home. This is my journey home. What lays unconscious in my mind is that I have been gone from home for a long time, almost three years. Some things may be different.

Beginning Again


Earlier this year I posted on Facebook that I was ready to get out into the workforce. Behind these words was a desire to make something my own, a homier home, a feeling of fulfillment and purpose each day. I wanted to wake up and feel that I had something to give the world (other than trying to be the most perfect mom and raise functioning children for society.) Feeling blessed to be able to stay at home with my kids I wanted more.

When I posted the desire to work on Facebook my original intention was to stay open to whatever came my way. But as friends started providing me with suggestions, I got all clammy and hid in a corner. I realized I wasn’t able to do that.
Floating in the background was Thirty-One Gifts. People new I loved the product. That I was spending a lot of money on it. Dreaming of it and how I could organize this area or another with the products. Or how I just loved the feel of a tote, its soft cotton. But I was not a sales person. I prefer to hide and let people find me. So this wasn’t for me. Yet I would go to bed thinking of Thirty-One.
Simultaneously I was taking a course called Foundations of Anthroposophy through the Rudolf Steiner Center in Toronto. One of my weekly homework assignments was to become someone else. Simply go to a store or park and watch someone’s body movements or habits. Then go to another store and act them out. This was a very nervous and anxious experience for me yet I did it every week with mixed results. But always I felt different. I felt like someone else. Taking on their walk made me create a story about them. Who they were. Sometimes I would feel more relaxed and joyful, easy going. Other times I felt confident. Each time a different emotion. My mentor taught me that all of these personality traits are in me. Until I can take them on as my own and make them mine I can walk differently, for example, to reach these traits.

“I am talking about a life driven more strongly by curiosity than by fear.”

Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert

Soon this idea started to mesh with the idea of selling Thirty-One products. Maybe I could be ‘that person’. I needed work on my image of a direct sales person and make it my own. So here I am. I decided to go for it on the 21st of July. Take on a new adventure. See if I can be another version of myself.

Soon I found that using and dreaming of Thirty-One products was inspiring me to write again. My Muse. Writing is my soul’s life. My soul, me, feels so excited to be useful again.
I had several intentions when I joined Thirty-One. They are:

  • To learn more about business. I wish to be my own entrepreneur one day and could use some training
  • To be financially independent. Even if I can just make $500 a month I will feel like I can be more creative and make my home a home; my life my life. This will make me feel successful
  • To push myself out of my comfort zone. I have become such a quiet hermit. Sitting here eating to fulfil what is lacking in my life. I have put on 20 pounds in the last year
  • I need more things on my plate. I need more than home. The desire to connect with others and hear their stories excites me.

Here I am beginning my journey. I am so glad you are on this path with me…Stepping out of my box.


The Beep

The universe keeps nudging me to get out of bed an write. Good ol’ universe. I can always count on her. ;)

Often I can ignore her. I have excelled at that this last year but today she is kicking me in the butt. Moving from my daughter’s bed into my own I hear a beep come through the baby monitor. Whenever our monitors pick up sound it also goes staticky. So I lay there for a bit wondering what is going on. The monitor is plugged in so it isn’t its battery. After hearing this a couple of times I begin to feel that something is wrong with the baby. Perhaps she is moving and creating a sound and the monitor is beeping … That doesn’t make sense.

I get up out of bed and step into the hall, slowly pulling my door handle towards me so I can close the door quietly. As I stand there I hear the beep. A sharp piercing sound. The smoke detector battery alarm. I move quickly to the kitchen, grab a chair and pull that thing down.

As I put the smoke detector on the counter and the chair back in its place I realize I am awake. The first thought that pops into my mind is that I should write. Immediately my mind does a check-in looking for excuses… hmmm am I tired? I don’t feel tired. I should go back to bed. It is early. No, it is 7-ish.What other excuses can I find?! Before I allow my mind to find one I grab my notebook and pen and sit down. And this little diddly is what I wrote.

I do sense a metaphor in the smoke alarm battery needing to be renewed, if I can call it that for the sake of my metaphor. As the time has been passing since my last post there have been stories brewing in my mind. The last few days I have been feeling anxious, expired, about ready to explode, exhausted, … irritable. My warning bells have been going off as well.

So Miss. Universe, I have heard your call. I thank you for releasing some of the pressure. Please come again soon. Don’t give up on me.


To Dance Inside and Out

In the fall of 2012 I was delightfully happy. Joy. That is what I felt. It was throughout my entire being. My cells even danced in my body. Despite this joy, writing was a struggle. It was my challenge to balance it with homelife. I found myself feeling guilty that I wanted my kids to be gone so I could work yet I saw myself as a homemaker. How could I want to be home with them yet wish them to be gone?

It seemed as though I had to choose. I chose my family, focused on homeschooling, and stopped writing. Every once in a while I would lift my head out of the sand and do a blog post or journal but my pen would go into the drawer and I would get back to business. Homelife business.


My thoughts of writing increased as I became pregnant. To me my little one was telling me to get to business even from the womb. Write. I did not. Not on any regular basis anyway. Not in anyway that seemed significant to me. Now she is here and the pressure to write is even stronger. Yet I hide and avoid the pen. What is up?

I think I have to deal with my choice-making back in 2012. I have to deal with why I choose to leave writing. One of my quests has been to balance work and home. With writing home life is better. I am a better mom. A better wife. A better person. Yet, it seems as though I really need to fight for my time to write and it became too much. Without it I am not my best. I also need to battle with myself to actually sit down. My thoughts allow me to do everything but write.


Food has become too much of a crutch. I am 20 lbs over weight. My whole body hurts. Foods bother me like they never have before. I am tired all the time. Never excited for life. Honestly, I think I am burning out. Much of what is going on right now is very similar to what I went through in 2010.

Now, I must write. The battle of my thoughts must begin. I need to plant new thoughts that will lead me to writing. I need to return to my life of awareness and mindfulness. I need to return to yoga, meditation, cooking … finding a family rhythm. I need to uncover and demyth all the stories I have told myself about writing. It isn’t a competion or a choice to be made. I can have both. I have to have writing.