tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9827900045922361152024-03-05T20:19:59.253-06:00From A to Z with Shelley CI made this catchy headline even though I'm Canadian and it should read "A to Zed."
I'm my head it's "A to Zee." Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.comBlogger308125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-48268802494102440172020-08-05T00:11:00.001-05:002020-08-05T00:46:27.912-05:00Living the dream...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrNTvXAFFFWNZDMq9n_w8Q44It0go57wnqskiYXGkR2fiPLYyWk1fGyltGSWdZnaTmmBLiY_mqTkMhx0Nu_hxTGenMVB6vEdzsWxWVszXP3WXsfi4CwXp3MBBGhVWM4c1X1FOh2KyNiylW/s1600/30-301556_living-the-dream-cliparts-living-the-dream-png.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="591" data-original-width="920" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrNTvXAFFFWNZDMq9n_w8Q44It0go57wnqskiYXGkR2fiPLYyWk1fGyltGSWdZnaTmmBLiY_mqTkMhx0Nu_hxTGenMVB6vEdzsWxWVszXP3WXsfi4CwXp3MBBGhVWM4c1X1FOh2KyNiylW/s400/30-301556_living-the-dream-cliparts-living-the-dream-png.png" width="400" /></a>The one thing about getting what you want in life is that working to achieve it is a grind, and when you finally make it the place you've worked so hard to be, it's not always going to be good.<br />
<br />
Some days achieving your dream sucks, and that's ok. It's normal. Even the greatest things in life get tiresome sometimes.<br />
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But, other days it feels like you're exactly where you're meant to be. All that hard work paid off. You've made it, kid.<br />
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I remember clawing my way through college. working at my security job while trying to keep my head above water in my studies. Most days I felt like I was barely surviving. I was at least eight to ten years older than most of my classmates. A "mature student." While they lived at home with their parents, I lived in a dumpy three story walk-up with my cat.<br />
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I was the old lady of the program at 30, but those kids embraced me, and I kind of got a second shot of early adulthood. That part was invigorating.<br />
<br />
Those were some of the best years of my life. I didn't have the gumption or self awareness to realize that at the time. But, hindsight is 20/20 and a beautiful memory for me.<br />
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I realize now, how the challenging times were just as important, if not more important than the good times. The hard nights, when it seemed impossible, are the nights that made it all worthwhile.<br />
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On the nights that were hard, there were lifelines all around me. People who cared, and people who shared experiences like mine. Even though I sometimes felt it, I was never really alone.<br />
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I remember calling my little sister one evening, I was weeping about how I didn't have it in me to continue. Being a full-time mature student while working and trying to keep a roof over my head and pay bills was taking its toll. I was at my breaking point.<br />
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"I quit," I told her. "This dream is bullshit."<br />
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A student of law, she agreed. She'd had many nights like mine; exhausted and crying over being stuck in the middle of trying to make your life better, and it seeming so hopeless.<br />
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"Nobody tells you that you need to claw your way to your dreams. It's a fight. It's always a fight."<br />
<br />
We took turns breaking down, comparing our moments of frailty while lifting each other up. Seeing that we weren't alone in our struggles made it easier. She understood my tears. I understood hers.<br />
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There were many nights like this.<br />
<br />
Tears. frustration. Reflection, and appreciation.<br />
<br />
The cycle never ends. When I achieved my dream of graduating college, there was another dream waiting for me, and after that another... and so on and so on.<br />
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I've realized now that the experience of working towards my goals and dreams is actually far more impactful than achieving them. That's where the life is; in the journey. The accomplishment is simply the reward, before moving on to live another part of your life.<br />
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It's so important to have dreams to chase. It's just as important to savour the chase.Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-14165844378617997002020-07-30T11:27:00.002-05:002020-07-30T13:09:58.718-05:00That Carrie Bradshaw Dream... <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGqG7TGIygJo-PID5inX0gOoFWgI51tQUz8t8HBjMpk5_CwYe1QorNYwbDc7KLk6sUmtGBUpmhNeCWm1RqmFzZD5BaRX_n6HuZHdvIDoyv8tOSgwa66pCQuKIoCyky8X5hOWfWbHUUUvmJ/s1600/carrie-computer-aiden.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="501" data-original-width="700" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGqG7TGIygJo-PID5inX0gOoFWgI51tQUz8t8HBjMpk5_CwYe1QorNYwbDc7KLk6sUmtGBUpmhNeCWm1RqmFzZD5BaRX_n6HuZHdvIDoyv8tOSgwa66pCQuKIoCyky8X5hOWfWbHUUUvmJ/s400/carrie-computer-aiden.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Life has been busy, and for a lot of years I stopped writing.<br />
<br />
Well, for the most part I stopped.<br />
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There were a few exceptions.<br />
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Like right after my daughter was born. I was so overcome with hormones and emotion that I felt as though I would explode if I didn't express myself. I felt like Simba's father in the opening scene of the Lion King, when he raises his cub up for the world to see. That was me, only my cliff was a blog that like five people read. Still, I was unable to contain myself, because I wanted to share my happiness with anyone and everyone who would look at it.<br />
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Paradoxically, when my grandma died I furiously typed out my sorrow in a couple of blog posts that reflected my broken heart, my soul and of my relationship with her. My vast emotions needed an outlet. My tears needed a place to be cemented.<br />
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Unless I was completely moved and damn near possessed to write, I didn't do it.<br />
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Just before I got pregnant I had a brief stint as a columnist for the Winnipeg Sun. It felt like my Carrie Bradshaw moment-- I was getting to test my chops at writing about relationships and whatever else in print for an audience. It was my dream come true.<br />
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I felt as though I had made it and I took this opportunity and myself pretty seriously. Too seriously, which isn't a good thing, because I lead this passage with my ego. I know I can be a good writer, especially when I write from the heart and the depths of my soul. I also know that in order to be a good writer, one must lay it out there, be vulnerable. Not give a fuck about the people who will hate you, because no matter how big your stage is, some people are going to hate you.<br />
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I wasn't ready for that part of it.<br />
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I wanted people to like me. I wanted to be that darling in the Sunday paper that was witty, and funny and had heaps of wisdom to share. I wanted people to read what I had to say and to enjoy reading my words as much as I enjoyed writing them.<br />
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Essentially, I wanted all the good things about this opportunity without any of the bad. And while there were people who did like me, they were accompanied by others who didn't.<br />
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There's nothing like accomplishing your dreams and putting yourself out there in a very public and vulnerable way to knock you down a few pegs.<br />
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It hurts, but sometimes (probably most of the time) it's necessary.<br />
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Like Carrie Bradshaw, I am insufferable and unlikeable sometimes. I've made a lot of mistakes and bad decisions in my life, some that have been at the expense of others. Reckoning with that part of myself is hard. Nobody likes to look at the toxic parts of themselves. But that confrontation is necessary if you want to change and grow to be better.<br />
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We can always change and we can always be better than we used to be.<br />
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In the years since, I've became more cautioned of sharing myself in my writing until I just stopped.<br />
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Life got busy, my priorities changed, and time was tenuous.<br />
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There's more at stake now too, as my life isn't just mine anymore. I share it with my partner and kids whom I respect deeply and I would never want to to embarass. Also, as I've said, my time is sparse. Anything that takes me away from my family has to be worth it.<br />
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For me, writing is worth it.<br />
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I've always loved writing. I've always enjoyed wandering through life, looking for the next story, whether it's mine or someone else's. I've missed that part a lot.<br />
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Aside from all that, I am older now. I'm also maybe a little wiser, and my ego, though still fragile at times, is a bit stronger. I also have a lot less fucks to give than I used to. Not everyone is going to like me. Not everyone is going to like what I have to say or the stories I have to tell, and that's cool.<br />
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Life is short, and I have a lot of stories I want to tell.<br />
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<br />Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-37423473342140116422020-07-27T00:11:00.000-05:002020-07-27T00:37:11.181-05:00Just another body at the beach...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbGZILtTaJPY7_-fYaC3vYJRH1K5QHqeL_D-ErZ-TE3SoIKlTnKYwO5l9b0g3dMQIMVbeF3dajg0YWxWfBRzI79m44F_3jJ2x03oTqmYDi-ceA59t_hHEyvBMRAToSS9jgyX9DZsLHSR1p/s1600/109872448_10157811800709563_5347899940934650223_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbGZILtTaJPY7_-fYaC3vYJRH1K5QHqeL_D-ErZ-TE3SoIKlTnKYwO5l9b0g3dMQIMVbeF3dajg0YWxWfBRzI79m44F_3jJ2x03oTqmYDi-ceA59t_hHEyvBMRAToSS9jgyX9DZsLHSR1p/s320/109872448_10157811800709563_5347899940934650223_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>The other day I tweeted "<i>I wish I hadn’t spent the first 35 or so years of my life thinking I was too fat to enjoy the beach. What a waste. Luckily I’m making up for it now. Life’s too short man.</i>"<br />
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I've written about this before. It's a paradigm in my life.<br />
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A little context into this tweet...<br />
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It was Saturday afternoon. It was one of those hot Manitoba summer days-- The kind of day where you literally feel like you might melt. The air is hot and a little bit suffocating, your skin is damp and sweaty and it feels like it's burning to the touch. It's both uncomfortable and satisfying. You don't dare complain because this weather is the antithesis of the frigid winters that we are known for.<br />
<br />
I was at the beach with my daughter, her dad and my sister. We were taking shifts cooling ourselves, enjoying the water and each other's company. At the moment I tweeted, I was sitting on our beach blanket a few feet from the shoreline, watching my little girl play and splash around in her pink armband life vest with her dad and her aunt.<br />
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It felt like I was living in a memory, like I needed to soak it all in. The sound of people splashing and laughing in the water; that smell of beach and sunscreen mixed with hot air; the sweltering sun.<br />
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I stared at my daughter, memorizing the way she looked as she threw her head back and laughed while she rubbed wet sand on her dad and her aunt, yelling "sand lotion!"<br />
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I just knew, this was moment that I never wanted to forget.<br />
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A moment that I would save for a rainy day.<br />
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Surrounded by bodies of different shapes and sizes, taking in the heatwave like we were, I suddenly realized how I'd robbed myself of so many moments like this in the past. It was only in the last five or so years that I started going to the beach in the summer. My visits became more frequent after my daughter was born and I became a stepmom.<br />
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It's only been the last two years that I've fully embraced myself as a just another body at the beach. No cover-ups or shrouds hiding my meaty thighs, or stomach and back rolls. No crouching away in a corner somewhere, praying that I don't run into someone I know. No oversized tee-shirts sheltering my insecurities while making parachutes around me in the water.<br />
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Just all of me in one of my many bathing suits, exposed in a large crowd of strangers. What's more is that I actually feel good (and liberated) bumming around the beach in a one-piece that accentuates every fat lump of my body.<br />
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This wasn't always the case though.<br />
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I spent so many years struggling with body image and disordered eating. I wore cardigan sweaters on sweltering summer days, because I believed that they hid my fat rolls better than just a tee-shirt or a tank top. I avoided the beach, pools, and even daytime because of how I felt about my body. My stature. My fat.<br />
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In my mind, my fat body was not worthy of being at the beach. I despised myself for not trying harder to lose weight, vowing that by the next year I would be worthy of summer.<br />
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When I did find myself at someone's pool or at the beach, I wore entire outfits over top of my bathing suit in the water in an effort to hide myself. If I didn't try to hide I felt like I was proving the point that every person who ever called me fat in my life was trying to make.<br />
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It was exhausting.<br />
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And yet, settling into middle age and motherhood, here I was surrounded by a crowd of people doing their best to social distance in a heat wave, embracing my body and myself at the beach.<br />
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Nobody else cared about my bulk, or how I fill out my swimsuit. There was no spotlight on me, or group of bullies pointing and laughing at my very existence or calling me fat. The only people that even noticed me where the ones who I was with, who were happy to spend the day with me, enjoying the beach and making memories.<br />
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My daughter certainly doesn't care that my body looks the way it does. She loves my body, it is her comfort. It's all she's ever known.<br />
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She cares about me being the mom who will go in the water and play with her. She cares about me being the mom who laughs and enjoys a hot day at the beach, making sand castles and eating chips with her on our blanket overlooking the water. She cares about having fun.<br />
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She doesn't care about my cellulite and fat rolls. In fact, when I've tried to cover myself at the beach she tells me to take off my shirt or my shorts in the water, like her.<br />
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Summer is fleeting. My daughter's childhood is fleeting. Life is fleeting. The older I get, the more I realize that every day is valuable.<br />
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My time is valuable.<br />
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I am valuable.<br />
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Life is valuable. Too valuable to waste.<br />
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Sooner than you know the leaves will start to turn brown and yellow and the air will slowly start to cool until it bites. The days will turn into weeks, then to months and then years, and those days at the beach, playing in the water with your kids will be some of your fondest memories. I promise.Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-26230700819291400632020-07-21T11:12:00.000-05:002020-07-21T11:12:06.000-05:00The old lady who collected lucky pennies...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBl4E5XnI7IVraPTbXRtKTLF_KkSWxBqcnzNwWSS-o5KGjpGiZeTZfDAUoROSUmqG0RvqeaRTcr39fR-HeNNkUL0ObyfTgsYkcrpA3bxPJSWBKA2gnr7Zrecobq8lB3uEaq6XENJsl38Gn/s1600/10891793_10152966349066257_353437487727188321_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBl4E5XnI7IVraPTbXRtKTLF_KkSWxBqcnzNwWSS-o5KGjpGiZeTZfDAUoROSUmqG0RvqeaRTcr39fR-HeNNkUL0ObyfTgsYkcrpA3bxPJSWBKA2gnr7Zrecobq8lB3uEaq6XENJsl38Gn/s400/10891793_10152966349066257_353437487727188321_n.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
My Grandma used to pick up pennies and other loose change that she would find, whether it be on the sidewalk, the street, in a shopping centre, or someone's house. She would pick it up, proclaim her good luck and then sock the coin away in a special spot in her change purse until she got home.<br />
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Then, when she got home, she would transfer her lucky pennies (or nickels, dimes and quarters) to a jar that she had on her shelf. She would save her findings for a whole year before donating them to her church.<br />
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I always saw this as kind of odd. A penny has very little value when you find it alone on the pavement. If I ever bothered to pick up a lucky penny I never treated it with the attention and care that she did. I would throw in the in the bottom of my purse where it would get lost forever, while she picked up her lucky pennies and transferred them to a special spot<br />
with the intention to make the world a bit of a nicer place for someone else.<br />
<br />
She did this for as long as I can remember, until her dementia got bad and she began to fade away.<br />
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Another thing she used to do was write down novelty license plate numbers and letters in a little book. I don't know why she did this. Perhaps the editor in her thought it was clever, or funny. Perhaps there was no real reason, and she just did it as a game for herself, to pass time when she was making her way from point A to point B in her little silver K-Car.<br />
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It was just one of the interesting things that she did.<br />
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I remember when I was a kid, if I would see a license plate that I thought she would like I would call her and let her know about it. She always rendered excitement, saying "Ohhhh! Let me get my book so I can write that down!"<br />
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Sometimes I wish I asked her why she did these things. Not so much to question her intentions, but rather to learn more about her.<br />
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She used to tell me when I was bored that I should open the newspaper and edit it.<br />
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"Look for the mistakes and circle them," she would tell me and sometimes show me her marked up paper. "Or find words that you don't know and look them up in the dictionary!"<br />
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She always had an idea of something we could do to squash boredom that would force us to pay attention and use our brains.<br />
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Of course she did the daily crossword, and she read Reader's Digest. She took up sculpting as a hobby later in life, and when she was able she would spent time at a shared rented studio on Clifton Street. She always had time to meet for lunch, or go shopping at The Bay, or to accept visitors into her apartment on Sargent Avenue.<br />
<br />
There was always a tin of homemade cookies in the fridge, and canned fruit and Vegetable Thins crackers in the cupboard. Her place was always immaculate, and her outfit was always on point; tied together with a scarf, fashion jewelry, a blazer and makeup.<br />
<br />
In hindsight, now that all I have left of her are some random things and faded memories, I wish I had bothered to ask her more about herself. I wish I had asked why she felt compelled to donate her lucky pennies, or how she ever came up with the idea to collect novelty license plate numbers in a book. I wish I knew if she actually liked editing the newspaper, or if it was just a way for her to pass time.<br />
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I can surmise that a lot it stemmed from being lonely, but that's just a best guess.<br />
<br />Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-87318669815330648212020-07-20T21:50:00.000-05:002020-07-21T09:06:14.149-05:00New York, New York...Have you ever gone somewhere and the whole time you're there it's the newest, most familiar place you've ever been to?<br />
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That's New York. </div>
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I remember the first moment I stepped up from the 7th Avenue Subway Station. It was raining, but that didn't matter, a place like New York doesn't stop or even slow down when it's raining. The raindrops made that first experience that much more exceptional. It was like poetry.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsEUY1K5A7dlSm6dZHiPiZBZsf2McYddZiXuFbdON7cq2cgMdUvf29ysWXXF2p7Ahwk_tKoH4-HStS5-b2jZXIFiWAovD6T-rBEIIAg3eR7ltKg9uXz-ZBq5GVPQJjCMaRsdpoYejwHtz3/s1600/Screen+Shot+2020-07-20+at+9.47.17+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1346" data-original-width="1012" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsEUY1K5A7dlSm6dZHiPiZBZsf2McYddZiXuFbdON7cq2cgMdUvf29ysWXXF2p7Ahwk_tKoH4-HStS5-b2jZXIFiWAovD6T-rBEIIAg3eR7ltKg9uXz-ZBq5GVPQJjCMaRsdpoYejwHtz3/s320/Screen+Shot+2020-07-20+at+9.47.17+PM.png" width="240" /></a></div>
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New York might even be more romantic in the rain.</div>
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I was gulped up by the biggest buildings I'd ever seen in my life, while the reflection of the streetlights radiated on the wet pavement beneath my feet. I couldn't even see the top of some of the skyscrapers because there was this ceiling of fog that seemed to rest among the middle floors of the buildings. I had never seen such monstrous cement wonders like that in my life. Lined in uneven rows. Even the small buildings were grand.</div>
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Everything looked like it was important, yet throngs of people hustled across streets and down sidewalks unimpressed or oblivious to the absolute wonder that I was taking in. Everyone in New York is coming or going somewhere. The city is far too big and far too busy to saunter through. </div>
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The streets seemed like they were going to burst from the bumper-to-bumper traffic. Horns blared as cars inched their way through intersections. They honked at each other, people trapped in their steel cages on wheels in gridlock, not at the pedestrians hustling through the city.</div>
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We stopped at a bodega to buy two umbrellas. We were exhausted, but I was high from finally setting foot in the place of my dreams and Chris was high from my reaction. His hard work and end of year bonus paid for my dream, and he got to watch it and feel it come to life. While I obviously got the better deal, we were both very happy.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsFop9FdtHl2SYISlh1rdHM_dHIqzyMaPjOvSMM55Q27FbSRK7fkuyqkFN6Ix7812cV5rb20rCRQE2PGnqWd4hzgkAzsG4tenREBNEn9HLMYcC65JoJB2hKBrpS1hPdnw2KAP-adFAo5Wi/s1600/Screen+Shot+2020-07-20+at+9.48.35+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1352" data-original-width="1008" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsFop9FdtHl2SYISlh1rdHM_dHIqzyMaPjOvSMM55Q27FbSRK7fkuyqkFN6Ix7812cV5rb20rCRQE2PGnqWd4hzgkAzsG4tenREBNEn9HLMYcC65JoJB2hKBrpS1hPdnw2KAP-adFAo5Wi/s320/Screen+Shot+2020-07-20+at+9.48.35+PM.png" width="238" /></a>Being there, so far away from the empty prairie sky and from the appreciated, but ordinary life we lead, was exciting. We had three days to capture and experience as much of New York as we could. A modest timeframe, given all the city has to offer. We didn't bother to plan for much, because all I wanted to do was see everything. So, while the attractions where everywhere and accessible for a price, our feet and eyes and access to unlimited Metro Cards were what was the most valuable to us.</div>
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We made our way down the streets, holding our carry-ons in one hand and our cheap bodega umbrellas in the other. We walked by famous monuments, like Carnegie Hall and the Russian Tea Room, and almost didn't even notice them. In New York it seems like you are almost always close to some kind of monument or landmark. Everything looks like you've seen it somewhere before, and maybe you have because the city is renowned.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFAencPrOLMW-cXoEJuPBMYnN4k3n3HPMXhDOFghAl4fdrvnnogKhvF7zwiUwmDX8zMAewJsJb4t-YvVzcIgLPa_uI4oKmSQj0Cucm_FvuI8I_mF9LJCL1iDrAQFuTmmXkEs9CXIwP0cgb/s1600/Screen+Shot+2020-07-20+at+9.48.48+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1346" data-original-width="1004" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFAencPrOLMW-cXoEJuPBMYnN4k3n3HPMXhDOFghAl4fdrvnnogKhvF7zwiUwmDX8zMAewJsJb4t-YvVzcIgLPa_uI4oKmSQj0Cucm_FvuI8I_mF9LJCL1iDrAQFuTmmXkEs9CXIwP0cgb/s320/Screen+Shot+2020-07-20+at+9.48.48+PM.png" width="238" /></a>We ducked into Angelo's Pizza because we were hungry and tired of carrying our bags. Immediately we were sheltered from the noise and the rain and the from the bustle of the city. It was just a normal restaurant, only there were faded pictures of celebrities like David Letterman and Madonna in cheap frames on the walls. A proclamation of greatness because rich and famous people either ate there or mentioned that they had. </div>
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Our pizza was more famous than we would ever be.</div>
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After we filled our bellies, we continued our adventure. The rain had let up, and we hauled our tired selves and carry-ons through Central Park. It was endless. Full of pigeons, park benches, people, and roasted nuts. It was so strange to be around so many people doing so many different things in one place. New York is a different experience for everyone, even if they are in the same space.</div>
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It's hard to explain. It's hard to articulate why I love this place so much, or why even if I went back a million times it wouldn't be enough-- This post captures my first hour in the big city. I could go on and on probably write a novel about my New York weekend. It was magical. </div>
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A Friend once explained it to me like this; she said "In New York it feels like, no matter what you are doing, you are in the exact place that you're supposed to be, doing exactly what you are doing."</div>
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She was right. </div>
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I love New York. </div>
Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-82552165784689947012020-07-16T12:57:00.000-05:002020-07-29T11:47:34.103-05:00Can we create a new normal?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have been out of work for months and I don't know when I will get to call back to return.<br />
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I know this isn't uncommon during the pandemic. There are so many people who are in the same situation.<br />
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It's a bit of a conversation piece, this uncertainty. We're all steeped in it to various degrees, wading through this quandary, trying to live our lives in the most normal way possible.<br />
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At first it all seemed so terrifying and dire.<br />
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Not work? What?<br />
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I've traded a lot of my identity for my job title and profession-- more than I'd actually thought before all this started. It was hard to back away from. I always felt like my job was something in my life that was mine. I had this weird protective ownership over it. A silly notion, given that it's not so much mine as it is something I do.<br />
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When I stopped working, I felt a little bit lost. The absence of work felt weird and sort of empty. It took me a little while to get over the feeling that I should be doing something, or checking in with someone. Even though there is always something to do around my house, I spent the first couple of days dumbfounded and wondering "What now?"<br />
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Having time suddenly felt overwhelming. I felt guilty and lazy for not feeling overrun.<br />
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I've spent four and a half years on autopilot, multitasking full-time work with trying to manage my home life and being a parent. For the last half decade it seemed like every shred of time was accounted for or claimed by something or someone, because as cliche as it sounds, there were never enough hours in the day. Becoming a working mom, meant becoming a very mediocre version of supermom.<br />
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And then the pandemic hit, and I got laid off and all of a sudden I felt like I could take a breath.<br />
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This lockdown, though uncertain and terrifying in it's own way also felt like a bit of a lifeline amidst the chaos. For the first time in a long time-- probably since returning to work after my mat-leave, I don't feel like I am drowning in my life.<br />
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That sounds unreal. It took a pandemic to stop feeling like I am drowning in my life.<br />
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But it's true. Right now there are no anxiety-riddled mornings, hauling ass trying to get three kids to two different schools across the city from one another before O'Canada starts. I'm not hastily grocery shopping for a few things on my lunch break, or racing to get a kid before the daycare 'closes.' We get to spend more than the three hours before bedtime together every day, and we have found time to do some of the things that we've always wanted to try, like camping, or fishing on the creek by our house.<br />
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Of course it's not always rosy or Instagram-worthy. Our time is also sometimes met with boredom and the need for a break from one another. The kids still watch loads of TV and I still struggle with what to make for dinner every night. When we had to homeschool, I struggled immensely. It was hard for all of us. We miss some of the aspects of our pre-COVID existence and are always in a constant battle with the uncertainty of it all. I'm still super busy, but well rested.<br />
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Chris is still working, though his office is our dining room table for now.<br />
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I never expected to have this much time in my life again. Not while my kids were young anyway.<br />
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This isn't meant to disparage or undervalue my job by any means; in fact it has nothing to do with my actual job. This is more of an observation of the entire five day 40-hour workweek structure as a whole and how hard, or perhaps impossible is it to try and raise kids and maintain a sense of self and balance within that structure.<br />
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Prior to this pandemic unemployment, there wasn't really a balance. Our pre-COVID life was so fast paced and rushed. From the moment I opened my eyes every morning it was like "GO!" Every single second of the day was like a long haul relay race, where I was the leader and my team did their best but wasn't always the most coordinated.<br />
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I want to go back to work, or go back to working. I want to be able to spend time with my kids and have time for myself, and I don't think it's unreasonable to want it or have it all. I think under the current version of a normal 40-hour work week system it is impossible, because (again with the cliche) there aren't enough hours in the day. But, if there is a takeaway from this extraordinary situation that we find ourselves in, it's we have the opportunity to reinvent normal.<br />
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There are other advantages for a shorter workweek that are beneficial for the <a href="https://neweconomics.org/2010/02/21-hours/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">planet, people and the markets</span></a>, not just for tired moms like me.<br />
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I know that big shifts and changes like the one I am speaking about don't come quickly or easily, but considering that the 40-hour work-week is rooted in industrialism and was started at a time before people had<span style="color: blue;"> <a href="https://www.askspoke.com/blog/hr/40-hour-work-week/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">the tools and the types of jobs to work anywhere at any time, and before dual incomes were the norm</span></a></span> in partnered households, changing the standard to meet our changing lives seems obvious.<br />
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<br />Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-65079255629860515542020-05-03T16:35:00.000-05:002020-05-03T17:00:40.833-05:00Pandemic babies<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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The other day I was thinking about the people who have just had babies. Pandemic babies, hunkered down in their homes, while anxious family members wait to meet their newest. I remember having my daughter, and wanting to present her to the world by holding her up the way Mufasa did to Simba in the Lion King. It was a long running joke between Chris and I, because it seemed so over the top, but that's how I felt. I was beaming. I was proud, and I wanted to present my greatest love and accomplishment to the entire world.<br />
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I'm sorry for anyone who longs for the same, but can't. Somewhere inside of this all, there is a good lesson or experience. I think.<br />
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But, that silver lining or whatever it's called doesn't take away from the fact that it's hard and it sucks.<br />
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Exhausted new parents are having to navigate a whole new way of life without hands-on help. The village is virtual, and none of them even fathomed that a physically empty, virtual only village was an option when they found out they were going to be parents. How could they have?<br />
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This pandemic rewrote the plan.<br />
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Becoming new parents can already be a super insulating experience. Afterall, not only is a baby born, but a mother and father are born too. It's hard. It's gritty, and it's something that you can't quit, even when it's unforgiving or you just feel like it. Sometimes it's not easy to see through the fog of it all. Even though there is a nearly year-long wait to welcome a baby, it's nearly impossible to prepare for being a first time parent.<br />
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If you have any new mom and dad friends, check in on them.<br />
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Perhaps I am equating too much of my own feelings into this. Maybe there are other new parents out there who relish in the fact that they don't have to share their new baby with the world just yet. Maybe the isolation has some merit. I hope that's the case, and I hope more people are feeling like that., than feeling abandoned.<br />
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In any event, whatever the case, for what it's worth, to all of the new parents who are navigating your new life during this panmenic, I see you and your struggles mom and dad. It's hard and you are doing better than you think you are.<br />
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Long after this is over and the world resumes into some kind of normalcy, whatever that looks like, your babies will be the pandemic babies. They'll regale people with stories about how they were born in the middle of a world-wide lockdown. They will tell their kids, and their grandkids and it will sound almost unbelievable, like a myth.<br />
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It's a weird time for everyone, but especially for those who are navigating through a whole new way of life.<br />
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Perhaps this new isolated reality and my current unemployment will allow me to breathe new life into motherhood, myself. Maybe, in the midst of all this I can find some rays of light and nuggets of gold. I've only ever had a year of being a mom that didn't feel like it was completely bursting at the seams. Maybe more time with my kids is my silver lining.<br />
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Who knows. I suppose perspective is key.<br />
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New parents, you are doing amazing. Better than you think.<br />
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Check in on your friends. More than anything right now, we need one another.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>**PHOTO/Sunny S-H Photography, April 2015</b></span></i>Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-59744187683231080362020-04-28T11:48:00.001-05:002020-05-13T09:51:05.753-05:00The Village Throws the Best 5th Birthday Party Of All! My daughter's fifth birthday was last Saturday.<br />
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We had been planning for, and looking forward to this big day for so long. This year was a milestone. she turned five-years-old. A whole hand! It seemed like a big deal, and we intended to treat it as such.</div>
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The plan, initially, was to throw a "real" birthday party with her preschool friends. We rented out the community centre by our house and planned to have a "queen puppy" themed shindig with a disco ball, rock 'n' roll music and a <span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">piñata</span>. We talked about it often, and she was so excited. </div>
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And then COVID hit and the world started to lock down.</div>
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In the midst of a global pandemic, a five-year-old's birthday party is relatively unimportant. There are bigger things to be concerned with, like trying to stay healthy by staying home and practicing social distancing, especially when uncertainty and sickness are looming. But, in the same breath, it is important. It was important to her, and important to us, no matter how miniscule it is in the grand scheme of things. It mattered, and I felt so bad that I had talked up her party, only to take it all back and completely change the celebration.</div>
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Kids are resilient though. My mom guilt outlasted her disappointment. </div>
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Her dad I explained to her that we would have a special birthday with just our immediate family in our house. We would have cake, and her favourite macaroni. We'd rent the new Trolls movie, and she could even help picking an extra special gift online-- A duty that thrilled her.</div>
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It wasn't the birthday we'd planned for. I was scared that it wouldn't be enough, and then the most amazing thing started happening... </div>
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People started showing up for her.</div>
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Both of my sisters, my nieces, our friend Marie and my parents all showed up outside our house at different times of the day to bring gifts and birthday greetings from the step. They arrived with their signs, sparklers, balloons and gifts.</div>
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Grandma Facetimed from BC, and patiently watched Riel eat her lunch and talk about her giant LOL Surprise doll gift. Our friend Michelle sent specially picked gifts through the mail, and my stepkids' mom Donna dropped the kids off for our pandemic-style family party, even though it was her day to have them.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivJkPO4LUGYzG9PgGevOOBKpsXQvUov9Qq6OkBgyQvwFWxQrxfwa5MbBRhGV54wsaTA-LnTr5_vtBAa7kyZuYeqURLMEAIZOq4lRNOiNOdrohQWTe8KdZ_YPBYPPP8QV30VQiRM9YEWPuN/s1600/Screen+Shot+2020-04-28+at+10.34.00+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1040" data-original-width="1026" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivJkPO4LUGYzG9PgGevOOBKpsXQvUov9Qq6OkBgyQvwFWxQrxfwa5MbBRhGV54wsaTA-LnTr5_vtBAa7kyZuYeqURLMEAIZOq4lRNOiNOdrohQWTe8KdZ_YPBYPPP8QV30VQiRM9YEWPuN/s320/Screen+Shot+2020-04-28+at+10.34.00+AM.png" width="315" /></a>Ace Burpee made a short birthday video for Riel. My friend Melanie, made birthday cutouts to stick on the window. My friend Barbara dropped off a beautifully painted Louis Riel rock, and one of the mom's from two of Riel's preschool friends reached out and asked if we'd like to FaceTime. The director of Riel's daycare reached out over email to wish her a happy birthday, and share a picture of her own daughter who shared the same birthday.</div>
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Numerous people, many of whom who have never even met my kid, sent her birthday wishes over social media. </div>
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The day was sprinkled, like confetti, with all of these small but super meaningful and thoughtful gestures. </div>
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Then our family-- my parents, sisters, nieces, and my Aunt Rose, along with Chris's mom and her partner John gathered together over a video chat to sing a very out of tune rendition of Happy Birthday and watch Riel blow out her candle.</div>
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They say it takes a village to raise a child, and our village came through in a big way on this day. People went out of their way to make sure Riel's fifth birthday was special, and to show her that even if we couldn't all be together, they would be there for her. They did their hardest to make sure that she knew she was loved and important, and they helped give her one of the best birthdays -- maybe <i>the</i> best birthday -- she has had to date.</div>
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Thanks to everyone who showed up. That was the greatest gift of all.</div>
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Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-43081577579918115002020-04-12T13:41:00.004-05:002020-05-03T17:49:21.007-05:00The layoff notice... I got laid off a few days ago.<br />
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It's a temporary layoff, but it feels crushing.<br />
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My situation isn't unlike so many other peoples. There are so many of us who woke up this morning in this weird, almost alternate universe, where this virus is spreading, our jobs have been temporarily suspended, and all aspects of life have changed and are changing drastically. We need to adapt to a this new normal. Less responsibility seems really heavy under these circumstances.<br />
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I am hanging my hat on the word 'temporary,' and the notion that life will go back to normal, or whatever the post pandemic version of normal will be. The mass layoffs and closures, the anxiety and fear of looming worst case scenarios, and this invisible sickness are all perishable. Amidst the chaos there is hope.<br />
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It will end or change eventually. If losing my job temporarily is the worst thing that will happen to me by the end of this pandemic, then I'll count myself as lucky.<br />
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I figured a layoff was coming given the near complete shutdown of our province. I didn't know when, and I had hoped that it wouldn't, but it was looming. I thought I would be prepared for if and when it did happen. I didn't expect to feel such sadness. It seems foolish or overreactionary, but I spent two days teedering from being fine to weeping and not understanding exactly why.<br />
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Not all feelings are logical, and not all of them make sense.<br />
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Perhaps the job loss is an easier thing to feel sad about than the giant mass of uncertainty that is causing this shift. It's somewhat tangible and concise, and it even has a direction that I can focus my emotions at. Perhaps it was the realization that my I had let my job become so deeply ingrained in who I am. I let it become a huge part of my identity, and losing it felt like I was losing a part of myself.<br />
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I saw the job more as something I owned than something I do.<br />
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There is both grief and comfort in knowing that we are all in this together. So far it's still early for us. Manitoba has only just been touched, while other places around the world are reeling and plagued with infection. It will get worse before it gets better, and the outcome relies on how seriously the population is heeding the advice to stay home and practice social and physical distancing.<br />
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Isolation is a luxury, albeit tedious at times.<br />
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Perhaps a bonus of being unemployed during this time is that it will restore other parts of my life. For nearly four years I've felt like life was bursting at the seams as I tried to juggle being a working mom. While the circumstances aren't ideal, this situation may give me a little bit of breathing room and allow to be a better mom. We'll actually have time to read an extra story, go for that bike ride, or play that game...<br />
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I hope amid all of this, there are silver linings for all of us.<br />
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Stay safe.Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-44444114292925043602020-03-27T22:50:00.003-05:002020-05-03T17:49:32.502-05:00Update from the inside... <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I still can't believe what's happening.<br />
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This pandemic is surreal, like it's right out of a movie or a book.<br />
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We've only been isolating ourselves in our homes, and "self distancing" (The newest buzz word of 2020) for a matter of days. A week or two... But it seems like longer. The situation changes by the hour, and it seems surreal and sort of apocalyptic, yet normal. Or a new version of normal anyway. Watching daily briefings from the prime minister and premiere, and other leaders from other countries makes the world feel so much smaller.<br />
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We are all affected.<br />
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Time as a whole feels different. It doesn't matter as much as it did last week, and it's a lot more abstract when you don't have anywhere to go, but you still have to maintain your daily life. For now the routines have been tossed out the window. Low grade anarchy for all of us, but we're managing. The kids are even getting some school work done.<br />
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I have developed a deeper appreciation for their teachers and early childhood educators.<br />
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I don't know exactly how to navigate this new normal. It's only supposed to be temporary, but who knows how long this pause will be or what normal will look like after life outside the house resumes. I get anxious when I think about it. This pandemic could last a lot longer than I'm ready to admit. I have to think day-to-day right now or I may go crazy.<br />
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I think the strangest part of it all is how big this is. It's moved from something that we watched distantly across the world while we went about our lives to a new way of life. It has changed the way we interact with each other and has already infected us with a deep sense of fear and paranoia.<br />
<br />
I am so afraid... Of catching the illness, or of dying or having people I know and love die from this. I am scared of surfaces, invisible germs, and contact with people. I'm scared of the uncertainty that looms over the entire world, and the changes that are bound to come of this.<br />
<br />
I'm scared, because my sense of normalcy is disrupted.<br />
<br />
Who knows how this is going to turn out.<br />
<br />
Like so many I sit in the comfort of my home, being afraid and doing my best to make this time and this life normal for my family.<br />
<br />
I recognize my privilege of isolating. We can protect ourselves from what lurks outside. Or, protect outside from what may lurk in us. Other people don't have the option. The unsung heroes of this pandemic have been grocery clerks, restaurant workers, delivery drivers, doctors nurses, truck drivers...<br />
<br />
As the world seems to crumble, many of the people on the front lines keeping it going don't even make a livable wage. It's so fucked up.<br />
<br />
This is only the beginning. I understand that... The world is changing, and so are we.Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-89317387123563207622020-03-21T13:53:00.001-05:002020-05-03T17:49:43.154-05:00Self isolation: Birthdays, school and breakdowns!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizYXaVVpB1_YiDS-EojSIU19KbO4wl_-YJylNRqJRtZkudlUkZZf3t6gk68JoEubRKxYVRf9SdM8QmyHxka1SCYjHjrFPTL9RpCdrLrKLgGaBvvb3FD_EvykoIb9_K8qvL9-inYhSamnsi/s1600/IMG_8510.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1062" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizYXaVVpB1_YiDS-EojSIU19KbO4wl_-YJylNRqJRtZkudlUkZZf3t6gk68JoEubRKxYVRf9SdM8QmyHxka1SCYjHjrFPTL9RpCdrLrKLgGaBvvb3FD_EvykoIb9_K8qvL9-inYhSamnsi/s320/IMG_8510.jpg" width="249" /></a></div>
Tuesday was my niece's twelfth birthday. The plan had been to go to Montana's to celebrate for a family dinner, but life seems to be changing by the second and we all need to stay home to try to flatten the curve of this pandemic.<br />
<br />
Self isolation. It all still feels like a dream when I actually think about it too deeply.<br />
<br />
Instead, on my niece's birthday we all gathered in our own homes on a Facebook messenger video group chat to sing happy birthday, as my sister brought her a cake for a short but sweet virtual birthday party.<br />
<br />
The pandemic wasn't as serious four days ago as it is now, but we all elected to stay in our own homes because it was the safest bet. Now it would just be what we are mandated to do.<br />
<br />
The virtual birthday party was bitter sweet. It was maybe ten or fifteen minutes of us looking at one another on our screens and talking over each other awkwardly. I'm so grateful for the technology to be able to share in moments like this from far away, but I've never missed my nieces birthday. I felt profoundly sad not to be there for this one.<br />
<br />
This situation is surreal. Fear and isolation are both still so new, yet already feel deeply ingrained.<br />
<br />
Yesterday I woke up, hopeful that I could get all three kids to play some super loose variation of "school" with me. I joked about starting the day with O' Canada and making them call me Miss Cook. I thought I could at least keep up with the suggested assignments from their teachers, and ideas from educators and other parents online. Or, in the very least I thought I could keep a cohesive morning routine around the dining room table.<br />
<br />
It all fell apart pretty fast. While I made the two older kids write in a diary and the little one draw in a notebook, I didn't even delve into the jump math or book reports. All of our attention spans couldn't compute this new reality. I'm not a teacher, and after this hard slap into reality, I realize that teachers should all get a billion dollar raise.<br />
<br />
Less than an hour later my in home class was dismissed and I felt like a giant failure.<br />
<br />
It's not a contest. I have to keep reminding myself that life is not a contest.<br />
<br />
I had a good cry after watching everyone's homeschooling pandemic stories. I sat there, in my room with big fat tears rolling down my cheeks watching everyone's crafts, homeschooling, yoga, walks in the snow. The glossy instagram side of this self isolation hit deep. Instagram makes everything, including pandemics look like a goddamn snow day.<br />
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It was my first day home from work and I couldn't help but compare myself to all the other moms in my situation-- A big no no for all social media, I know this, but I'm more sensitive than pre-isolated me. Right now things that wouldn't normally bother me are really getting to me and I haven't quite navigated this entire situation yet.<br />
<br />
Until that point my youngest kid had been wearing the same pyjamas for days. Chris and I had been tense and short with one another, and all three kids had been watching waaaaay too much TV. When self-isolation became the new normal, we stopped adhering to the bedtime schedule, and I started letting them do things like playing on my laptop that I said none of the kids would ever be allowed to touch, and playing on the newly charged travel iPad (that I only let them use during trips.)<br />
<br />
We probably should be better at keeping our routines, but we are in uncharted territory. We may as well try to make things more enjoyable for everyone right now.<br />
<br />
I keep wavering in my belief that it won't last too long, to my belief that this is the new normal for the foreseeable future. I hate being in this weird limbo spot.<br />
<br />
I may try to enroll my kids in my weird dining room table class again on Monday. If anything, I'll make sure they keep writing in their journals. This is something I think they'll want to look back at one day...<br />
<br />
It will get better.Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-81370514110296629342020-03-16T18:53:00.002-05:002020-03-16T19:45:42.565-05:00Pandemic I guess now is as good a time as any to start writing again.<br />
<br />
The entire world is in the midst of a pandemic, and I am not sure how to deal with or react to the uncertainty of it all. I've lived through pandemics before, but my privilege and proximity (perhaps?) always shielded me from the affects. I have never experienced one like COVID-19 where isolation and fear are so rampant and toilet paper is so scarce.<br />
<br />
Pandemic in the age of social media means the bombardment of information is a lot to digest. It is constant, and it ranges from hilarious to apocalyptic. Right now it seems like we're all just waiting for a big ball to drop. At least that's how I feel.<br />
<br />
What a strange and fascinating time to be alive.<br />
<br />
Businesses and schools are closing down and people are being told to be mindful of social distance and self isolate themselves to flatten the curve and slow the spread. The devastation that has happened in places like China, Iran and Italy seem like out of a movie. It doesn't seem real. Social media gives voice to regular people, like me, to share their experience, their fears, and their warnings.<br />
<br />
Some of these accounts have been utterly terrifying.<br />
<br />
Then, there are other voices. People who aren't afraid or haven't gotten sick. People who have gotten sick and who got better. People who are defying what the experts are saying and who are going on about their lives as though nothing is happening and a sickness isn't seeping in.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure about everyone else, but I am really struggling to figure out my feelings about it all. I keep wondering if I am overreacting or under-reacting. I can't make up my mind about it.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Am I scared? Yes, but I'm not so much afraid of getting sick. I'm afraid of this cloud of uncertainty looming over all of us, apart from this sickness. I don't remember living through anything like this before, where everything came to a halt and we have been advised as a society to keep to ourselves. I'm apprehensive of life after COVID, namely the economic impact it will have.<br />
<br />
It seems surreal, and I keep playing it in my head like a movie or TV show.<br />
<br />
Narrator: The pandemic was coming. Seeping in on the cold March night, in Winnipeg Manitoba. The centre of Canada. But she didn't listen. Nobody did. Life went on until it came to a crashing halt. Until the sickness grabbed hold of her and ahold of everyone around her. Was the the apocalypse? Was this really how it was going to end?<br />
<br />
*Dramatic music and b-roll*<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjct1pi9y09ngW8mVduMZx6F60fY3AKMQJTqo-c_SgRjNcp1H1EFtFYcNThLeDjl8TuyiIaPwGW2tn4ho2e2oBRulQ_xtZ2I0d-kBNu_JVWdo2j_nbYAuHjgu8jtkcBSGbbF1ogl_xthz1t/s1600/IMG_8401.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjct1pi9y09ngW8mVduMZx6F60fY3AKMQJTqo-c_SgRjNcp1H1EFtFYcNThLeDjl8TuyiIaPwGW2tn4ho2e2oBRulQ_xtZ2I0d-kBNu_JVWdo2j_nbYAuHjgu8jtkcBSGbbF1ogl_xthz1t/s320/IMG_8401.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div>
People have bought up insane amounts of toilet paper and sanitizer, preparing for quarantine, or perhaps the end of humanity. Costco and Superstore are the hottest spots in the city, with people spent the weekend lining up all the way around the respective buildings and filling their carts with hoards and hoards of food.<br />
<br />
Lord help me, please let me get through this time with enough toilet paper and patience for my children who are on a super-duper extended weekend. I have always grocery shopped like we were moving into a bunker, so I have lots of pantry food. That said, I am not sure that one can ever have enough chips for an isolation period.<br />
<br />
It's hard not to become consumed in it. It's hard to not panic and think of worst case scenarios, and then share them with your loved ones or on social media. It's hard to manage your reactions. Uncertainty is scary, especially when it involves so many people.<br />
<br />
I think we will be ok. I think we need to take this seriously, and listen to the experts, and ride out this wave knowing that we're all in this together and that it'll be ok.<br />
<br />
Wash your hands!Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-14058721475415918622020-02-22T14:40:00.003-06:002020-02-22T14:47:49.385-06:00The Fortune CookieYesterday I went for lunch with my friend Ben-- a former co-worker who has become a dear friend who I lunch with at least a few times a year.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivysa3MqO1yR8IPQVYkNl8t3qwvNzwdpEHjCNiQThXjOtcMXpznDiVtJE6XLOuY8bhyphenhyphen7m-cgN10n8dVaZL7CypyazYgsWmHxR6OhOULRfwFll_nfUKIQVELUwGjWETeh98hIB2qu4iFF8-/s1600/IMG_7203.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivysa3MqO1yR8IPQVYkNl8t3qwvNzwdpEHjCNiQThXjOtcMXpznDiVtJE6XLOuY8bhyphenhyphen7m-cgN10n8dVaZL7CypyazYgsWmHxR6OhOULRfwFll_nfUKIQVELUwGjWETeh98hIB2qu4iFF8-/s320/IMG_7203.HEIC" width="240" /></a><br />
We were seated by a massive bowl of fortune cookies at the new P.F Changs, catching up when the conversation turned to life, death and the universe. I don't even know how the topic came up, but I'm pretty sure I was the one to venture into this abyss.<br />
<br />
"So, you don't believe in anything after death?" I asked.<br />
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"No," he replied. "I don't."<br />
<br />
Ben, a science nerd, asserted that he didn't believe in anything more, though he hopes I'm right when I say that I do.<br />
<br />
"I'm an atheist," he said. "You're born, you live, you die and you become nothing. That's it."<br />
<br />
Whimsical ol' me, on the other hand couldn't fathom that.<br />
<br />
Nothingness.<br />
<br />
All of these thoughts, all of these memories and feelings, all of who we are fading away into nothing is too much for me to bear. This can't be the be all and end all of everything. There has to be a 'next' after we die, I just don't know what it is, and I often wonder (and clearly talk) about it.<br />
<br />
I'll admit I am conditioned to believe in more. I grew up in a God-fearing, Christian home and attended church my whole life, until I was able to stop. In recent years I have come to believe that maybe god and heaven and the bible aren't what I thought they were. (That's a topic of another time) but even if my perception on that has changed, I still believe there is more than this. The very essence of what makes us-- Our soul, if you will -- doesn't just die. It becomes something more. It has to...<br />
<br />
We discussed this for a little while, both respecting the others beliefs, but standing firm in our own.<br />
<br />
"OK," I said. "Put your hand into that bowl and pull out a cookie. Not just any cookie... You put your hand in there and you dig for the perfect cookie and we'll open it up and it will give us the answer," I said.<br />
<br />
"The answer being the meaning of the universe?" He questioned.<br />
<br />
Yes," I said.<br />
<br />
"The meaning of life and the answer to the universe in a fortune cookie. OK."<br />
<br />
We'd already opened a bunch of fortune cookies over lunch, and amused ourselves with our fortunes. Our server encouraged us to help ourselves, and we took advantage of that offer.<br />
<br />
Ben put his hand in the massive bowl of fortune cookies, and he dug around for a second. He pulled out a cookie from the middle of the mass and he held it up.<br />
<br />
"This is the one," he said. "The answer to the universe."<br />
<br />
He opened the plastic wrapper. I watched, with a wave of silly curiosity.<br />
<br />
Then he cracked the cookie, and low and behold IT WAS EMPTY.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_E-PkEANd8YPE-OAQ0T_FU_4yJFJjzujjqhmdubCIb1UpnYZ6ESUz8pCCRzz9jsHeA21PpoDcTbEYB4JD3oBJ8UqUsNXcyS0pGxkdyO7gjU7H2WvCTE6tpFCYKB_4AoStuFejS5iJeWU5/s1600/IMG_7202.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_E-PkEANd8YPE-OAQ0T_FU_4yJFJjzujjqhmdubCIb1UpnYZ6ESUz8pCCRzz9jsHeA21PpoDcTbEYB4JD3oBJ8UqUsNXcyS0pGxkdyO7gjU7H2WvCTE6tpFCYKB_4AoStuFejS5iJeWU5/s200/IMG_7202.HEIC" width="150" /></a>There was no fortune. No little slip of paper. No answers to the meaning of life, death and the universe. THERE WAS NOTHING! -- We both reacted the same way, exclaiming "OH!!!!" at the same time, and laughing at the complete and utter irony of the fortuneless fortune cookie.<br />
<br />
You couldn't have scripted such a perfect moment.<br />
<br />
In fact, if he is right and this life is all we have, then its moments like these that make it special.<br />
<br />
The rest of lunch was lovely. We caught up and ate some delicious food, and we never did manage to agree on the meaning of the universe or what happens after we die. It didn't matter.<br />
<br />
Another time, and another cookie perhaps...<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-31503711188871777822017-06-05T14:16:00.000-05:002017-06-05T16:09:03.334-05:00Brody - The Little Boy Who Left Behind A Big Legacy... <div style="text-align: right;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiepDPnCCddafvuRLlGWO54AfIUY_iITDwxASvuUWEviUi5khcaCBGin8OonF1F-dBeBKhA3QmXO4YadcUpNm4KpLhAK0vwWxpKRFTdGWKHqhKFdJy-QRTh0Y1Z8LOeToepUmf8PMakTi4H/s1600/Brody+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiepDPnCCddafvuRLlGWO54AfIUY_iITDwxASvuUWEviUi5khcaCBGin8OonF1F-dBeBKhA3QmXO4YadcUpNm4KpLhAK0vwWxpKRFTdGWKHqhKFdJy-QRTh0Y1Z8LOeToepUmf8PMakTi4H/s400/Brody+1.jpg" title="Tori and Brody." width="300" /></a>The other night I sat in my back yard talking, but mostly listening to Tori and Sheena Grühn, two sisters I’d reached out to through social media, tell me their story about Tori’s three-year-old son Brody.<br />
<br />
When I reached out to Sheena a few days ago, I was hoping that she’d call me and tell me a little bit about Brody and about the Team Brody Foundation Inc., which was formed in Brody’s honour after he passed away on September 1, 2015.<br />
<br />
I don’t know Sheena or Tori. I never met Brody, but this is Winnipeg and it seems as though we are all connected in some way. In this case, I went to junior high with their older sister and we have some mutual friends. That’s how it came to be that I watched their tragedy unfold on social media, and it gutted me. I was a new mom, watching this young mother go through every parent’s worst nightmare.<br />
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On August 31 a mutual friend posted about Brody. He was fighting a rare form of cancer that started at the base of his skull, diagnosed nine months earlier. That day he had seized and the situation was dire. He was in the hospital, hooked up to life support; Prayers, good vibes, and whatever else helpless people do when life is cruel, was encouraged. If there was such a thing as a miracle, Brody needed it.<br />
<br />
I remember looking at his picture and the horrible, horrible words that captioned it.<br />
<br />
A wave of despair fell over me, and I’ve never prayed harder to a God I wasn’t sure I even believed in, for anything. There had to be a chance. Kids aren’t supposed to die. Brody wasn’t supposed to die.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7-chH_BUglBdjV34wX-Q0ap_1U0hnx0n0WtMagun8n4rZc2eRzu_kcjMzytI_Vc8hVHnt_Z7N_XNe732Yd-rDHz_pcVEzZ_Jeokb20Ez5bLLrzuGnWFGwJJIRMIjjgrwqJCKSs86b20Y/s1600/Brody+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7-chH_BUglBdjV34wX-Q0ap_1U0hnx0n0WtMagun8n4rZc2eRzu_kcjMzytI_Vc8hVHnt_Z7N_XNe732Yd-rDHz_pcVEzZ_Jeokb20Ez5bLLrzuGnWFGwJJIRMIjjgrwqJCKSs86b20Y/s320/Brody+2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
But he did die.<br />
<br />
He died the next day at 6 pm while his parents lay with him, watching videos of him they’d shot on their phones. Tori said she was playing the last video she’d ever taken of him when his monitors started to “go crazy.” In the video you could hear his little voice saying “I love you,” and in real life he was slipping away. If you believe in signs and miracles and divinity, there was seemed to be so many little signs trapped in that most horrible moment.<br />
<br />
They knew it was dire, but they didn’t expect it to happen like that. Not in that moment.<br />
<br />
The hospital staff asked Tori if she wanted to bathe her son before they took him away. She did. She cleaned his little body that had endured so much during his nine months of treatment. She held him, and she washed him and when she was done she dressed him in big boy underwear and pyjamas before she said goodbye. She said that there was a kind of peace in doing that.<br />
<br />
And then Tori left the hospital to a new reality.<br />
<br />
In those first months, she could barely function. She shared her grief on Instagram, spilling her broken heart and soul into each caption and story she posted, and though each post was unbelievably sad she was so poignant and gifted in how she articulated herself. Every word and picture was a testament to this mother’s love and bond to her baby boy.<br />
<br />
Tori was just 18-years-old when she gave birth to Brody. He was born five days before she graduated high school, and he even attended her graduation ceremony with her.<br />
<br />
For the first two years of his life Tori was a stay-at-home mom. In 2014 she enrolled in CDI College when she was able to get Brody into daycare. She wanted to create a better life and future for herself and her son.<br />
<br />
It wasn’t long after he was in daycare that Brody became ill. He was two, but he stopped walking and talking and eating. He became detached. Exhausted. Lethargic. He was always sick, but every trip to the emergency room – and there were a lot of them – Brody was diagnosed with minor ailments, or nothing at all. Three times he had pneumonia, another time it was an ear infection… The lump they’d discovered in his neck was nothing to worry about according to one nurse.<br />
<br />
Tori knew something was wrong. Her little boy was always sick, and nothing seemed to be making him better. They would give him antibiotics, he would finish them, and he would still be sick.<br />
<br />
Then, in December 2014, Brody’s ear started to bleed. When they looked inside they saw something shadowy protruding out of his ear canal.<br />
<br />
They brought him back to the emergency room, and it took six people to hold the little boy down so they could try to cut a piece of the shadowy mass off and send it for a biopsy. They weren't able to cut anything off that day, but they sent the little boy for a CT scan, which confirmed that he had a tumor. The family was sent to stay in CancerCare's Ck5 unit on December 18th until the biopsy and portacath surgery was done.<br />
<br />
On December 24 their worst fears were realized when he was diagnosed with stage 3 Rhabdomyosarcoma.<br />
<br />
The mass had grown to cover one whole side of his face and head under his skin. The cells grew aggressively, like tree branches. But there was still hope, and they clung to it. Tori read that Brody had a 70 per cent chance of surviving this beast.<br />
<br />
To look at Tori, it’s hard to imagine the hell she’s lived through. She looks younger than 23, but when she speaks her demeanor and experiences are old, well beyond her years. She is laid back and thoughtful. When she tells the story of when her world started to crumble in late 2014, she speaks so eloquently and factual.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ZmUlJjXYPzHP8HKo10Lu5SmRZ4WcF8nMp1K8NpsaCn00of0xEf5l8Z6xHplAJjoAD1b-cMLnp453g45dUpl_56KqKUtmtKc1vkYC_sWOzxXFZCZvY9WgxyDovBnsJ-SrzF1aKqunxeeP/s1600/Brody+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ZmUlJjXYPzHP8HKo10Lu5SmRZ4WcF8nMp1K8NpsaCn00of0xEf5l8Z6xHplAJjoAD1b-cMLnp453g45dUpl_56KqKUtmtKc1vkYC_sWOzxXFZCZvY9WgxyDovBnsJ-SrzF1aKqunxeeP/s200/Brody+3.jpg" width="200" /></a>Her eyes light up when she talks about him—sometimes in the past tense, sometimes in present tense. He was mischievous and had his mom and his aunts wrapped around his little finger. Even though he was so young, he was well aware that he will sick. He spent so much of his young life in the hospital that he even learned how to administer his own medicine through the tube in his stomach.<br />
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And though he spent countless hours in the hospital, he also had a ‘normal’ life too. There were many magical moments…Tinkertown. The Zoo. Playing at the park… He liked collecting toys and figures, and he was obsessed with clean. If there was an upside to being treated in isolation it was that Brody’s room was immaculate.<br />
<br />
The little boy was special. He was feisty and so full of life, even when the cancer started to steal him.<br />
This June 19 he would be turning five-years-old. It will be a hard day for the Grühn and Birrell family, but rather spending a somber day mourning for the little boy who will eternally be three, they will be celebrating in his honour, and hoping to give joy to other kids fighting cancer.<br />
<br />
His family (The Team Brody Foundation) will hold Brody's 5th Birthday & Toy Drive at the Earl Grey Community Centre where Tori works. There will be pizza and cake and games for kids. There will be family, friends, and hopefully even strangers who want to help celebrate this special little boy with the big legacy.<br />
<br />
It’s an open invite from a family who seem to quickly embrace strangers as new friends.<br />
“Toys aren’t everything, but when Brody got a new toy while he was in treatment it always made him really happy,” she explained. “You don’t always know what’s going to happen, so I say spoil the crap out of your kids.”<br />
<br />
“I wish I had spoiled him more,” Sheena said.<br />
<br />
Tori, Sheena and the rest of Team Brody Foundation will hand deliver all the toys and donations to the children and teenagers at CancerCare themselves. They beam when they describe doing it last year.<br />
<br />
“You’ve got these kids who are going through a lot and to be able to go in there, and give them something that will make their day and their treatment that much better is really awesome. When we dropped off the toys last year, the kids were so happy.”<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv-_U5EIvwPcQjOpxzWnOyHei8JZoKY3sSOrnTV1l3xtEAwAnq02BK8YIREXBbbA8DK0CXcnG09okCk1qr4msSwGahK8Qql5GHzWNZ74q4uISWDWRV4SvYchqAYjj77jnJB9wVIRoDEmxI/s1600/Brody+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv-_U5EIvwPcQjOpxzWnOyHei8JZoKY3sSOrnTV1l3xtEAwAnq02BK8YIREXBbbA8DK0CXcnG09okCk1qr4msSwGahK8Qql5GHzWNZ74q4uISWDWRV4SvYchqAYjj77jnJB9wVIRoDEmxI/s400/Brody+5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Brody’s birthday isn’t the only fundraiser the group does. They’ve held a social, a benefit concert, blood drives, and bake sales in an effort to raise money for other parents of sick kids. They’ve applied and are going through the process to become a registered charity so that they can give tax receipts, but right now everything is still really grassroots. Even the money they raised for themselves when Brody was still alive, went back into helping others after Brody died.<br />
<br />
“Nobody out there does what we do. All of the money we raise goes directly to the families for things like parking, or food, or even just for peace of mind so they don’t have to worry about money for a few days while they’re going through this,” explained Sheena.<br />
<br />
Even more than the money, they offer support to families with children who are fighting childhood cancer.<br />
<br />
“The biggest thing about having us around is that we know what you’re going through. When people tell you that they can’t imagine what you’re going through, we can because we know.”<br />
<br />
This fall Tori is enrolled in the University of Manitoba. She hopes to become a pediatric nurse because knows that her experience can help others who are going through the same thing. She also feels at home in the CancerCare ward, where she spent so much time with her little boy.<br />
<br />
“It’s home for me, I love going there,” she said as we wrapped up our conversation.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-91536412583315027622017-05-24T16:12:00.000-05:002017-06-05T16:12:44.324-05:00A Donation, a Doughnut, and a Delightful Conversation... <div style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbttniLFLPDuMLWlasSBa55O6Iyr3pVDE0HZHN3bJbOzftOAWqy8aih10bdUdNYAu9QwR_xGZBeZLo_q4dcn8UtLZBl2xqFwfIWmQ7lBn4HavteLmcp6ULiOK0tZ_0_dtWYlYCTj6xTklJ/s1600/lynne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="701" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbttniLFLPDuMLWlasSBa55O6Iyr3pVDE0HZHN3bJbOzftOAWqy8aih10bdUdNYAu9QwR_xGZBeZLo_q4dcn8UtLZBl2xqFwfIWmQ7lBn4HavteLmcp6ULiOK0tZ_0_dtWYlYCTj6xTklJ/s320/lynne.jpg" width="240" /></a>After giving blood today I sat at the closest table to the doughnut counter-- Easy access for an extra doughnut and a little bit of company since I was by mysel<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;">f.</span></div>
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
The lady behind the counter, Lynne, was excellent at making conversation, though she may have been a little hard of hearing at times. She was an old hat at this, about four or five years in, at serving up cold drinks, coffee, and doughnuts to blood donors.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
Each of us donors were treated to whatever we wanted. A doughnut and a bag of Bits & Bites? No problem. It's the least they could do since we'd come to give our blood.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
I sat at the table and I inhaled my doughnut.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
"They're good, aren't they?" She said. "They're from Salisbury House. Nothing but the best for our donors."</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
I asked her how long she'd volunteered for, and why she started.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
It was something she needed to do she said.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
About eight or nine years ago her husband needed blood, and not just once. He needed it regularly because he was diagnosed with a rare form of leukemia. He was given three months to live, but he lived for 14 months thanks to the blood donations he received during his treatments.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
"He was always going to die, his leukemia wasn't curable," she said. "But, we got an extra year because of the people like you who donate blood."</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
And that year, she said, meant the world to her husband and her family.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
"He wasn't just given extra time, he was also given quality of life."</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
A few years after her husband passed away Lynne decided to start volunteering at Canadian Blood Services. She said being there and being able to tell people just how important their donations are is something she knows is important.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
"I am a link for people like you who come in to donate blood. I have benefited from it, and I need to keep telling people my story," she said.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
She recalled a time when her husband got a call cancelling his appointment because they didn't have any blood for him. It was time of dire straights. Blood donations, she assumes, had been slow and he would just have to wait.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
"When you hear about them putting out urgent calls for blood they mean it," she told me, adding that her husband only had to wait a few days.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
"He was OK, but if they bring in someone who's been in an accident..." Her voice trailed off.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
We chatted a little longer while she tended to others and I sipped my Sprite. She was comfortable and motherly. I told her I enjoyed her company and asked if I could take her picture and share her story on my Facebook page. She looked at me in this funny way and she said "OK, just because you asked..."</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
I thanked her, and she thanked me, and then I got up to leave and to book my next appointment at the front desk.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
"I hope to see you next time," I said.</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
"Book it on a Wednesday. I'll be here."</div>
<div style="font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em;">
**Posted with permission**</div>
</div>
Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-8895956244703424382016-11-10T14:15:00.000-06:002016-11-10T14:18:16.021-06:00Mom's the word. <i><b>WARNING: I swear in this post. Sorry mom, dad, work, kids, people who might be offended. All f-bombs were carefully thought out and planned for this post.</b></i><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv3Yo_xY1Y7IOXKYS3yMKhs1EM_ad1Ocizh1hoX3pD2f-ZOEseFOFsAS_K4TBhRsIUV5f1a0HZTrCFEmPKeB2Nmy2XO3_t4Gg1ef8KIEDaWYGGTnx2Mfij2n_Tvsc98j65pSMdJojY0wdF/s1600/mom.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv3Yo_xY1Y7IOXKYS3yMKhs1EM_ad1Ocizh1hoX3pD2f-ZOEseFOFsAS_K4TBhRsIUV5f1a0HZTrCFEmPKeB2Nmy2XO3_t4Gg1ef8KIEDaWYGGTnx2Mfij2n_Tvsc98j65pSMdJojY0wdF/s400/mom.png" width="400" /></a>Something happened after I became a mom (and stepmom.)<br />
<br />
Aside from all the love and joy that the kids bring me. Aside from the hugs and kisses and moments that I will remember for the rest of my life... Aside from the absolute love I learned how to feel for another human being, I have learned that there is a really dark side to motherhood.<br />
<br />
I have lost track of myself, my friends, my waistline, any hobbies I had, and my career.<br />
<br />
Motherhood has doubled the speed of life and added about eight bajillion things to my plate. I am having a helluva time keeping up. Where I used to prioritize tasks at work, I am now prioritizing whether I can fit a bath in for my kid/s tonight or tomorrow. Or, whether I can skip lunch, cut out early, and get some groceries before picking up my kid from daycare. Or, if I can MacGyver something semi-nutritious and good for dinner with whatever's in the fridge.<br />
<br />
My mind never stops. I am constantly thinking of the things I need to be doing. The things I should be doing. The things that I will need to do soon, and sometimes the things I want to do. <br />
<br />
I feel like this is not just me. No, this is all of us.<br />
<br />
Right?<br />
<br />
Please tell me this isn't just me.<br />
<br />
Since becoming a mom I can't stop fucking up.<br />
<br />
That sounds harsh, and I don't need a pep talk. Please, don't tell me I'm not fucking up. Trust me when I tell you that I am fucking up and that I am doing it often. In fact, sometimes that's how I remember that I checked something off my 'to do list,' because of the epic fail I made while doing it...<br />
<br />
From the time I wake up to the time I go to bed, I am chasing the day that will always beat me. I am trying to steal minutes for myself while the rest of the family is sleeping, or while I am pacifying the kids with bribes of treats or dreaded screen time so I can get stuff done. I am trying to multitask, and I am getting frustrated every single time I do it.<br />
<br />
This isn't easy. Domestic bliss is by far the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.<br />
<br />
I can only imagine that I sound like a complaining shrew. I know I do. I can't help it. It just comes out. That's another part of the new me that I am having a hard time dealing with. I didn't realize I'd be such a killjoy.<br />
<br />
"Don't do that."<br />
<br />
"Don't play with that."<br />
<br />
"NO!"<br />
<br />
"Stop doing that!"<br />
<br />
"Get out of there."<br />
<br />
"Stop fighting."<br />
<br />
"Stop."<br />
<br />
"STOP."<br />
<br />
"STOP!!!!"<br />
<br />
I don't even like saying no to the kids. I love them all so much that I would give them everything their little hearts desired if I knew it wouldn't make them terrible human beings. But no, this is part of it. Moms have to set boundaries and sometimes have to be a bummer.<br />
<br />
Hey man, nobody wants to be a bummer.<br />
<br />
I am searching for validation that I'll never get. I know that's not what we do all this for. But, damn. I need validation, because it turns out that I am not sure of anything. nope. I am not sure of a single thing. I am winging it all. So, I need validation that I am somehow winging it all in an alright way.<br />
<br />
I need someone to notice that I'm a busy as fuck person. I need someone to tell me that I am not suffering from postpartum depression when I have a breakdown because my kid is being a jerk. I need someone to tell me that I'm not a shrew, or a nag, or a killjoy, or overbearing. I need someone to tell me that I'm not a total write off as a friend because I only text back about 40 per cent of the time. (I'm so sorry friends!) I need someone to tell me to take an hour for myself and to go to the gym, or for a walk, or do whatever I want to do just for me...<br />
<br />
I need way more validation than I'm ever gonna get, and if you're a mom chances are you do too.<br />
<br />
We lose ourselves in this, because it's not equal and it's not easy and we are expected to work and be homemakers, and lovers and friends. We are expected not to stay fat after having babies because that means we've let ourselves go (If Maria Kang can do it, what's your excuse? Ugh.) And we are expected to fundraise for our kids, throw them Pinterest-worthy birthday parties, join a book club, and drink wine with our girlfriends... We are expected to shatter the glass ceiling, because somehow in the day and age, men still make more money than us for the same jobs. Oh, and we are expected to get the kids a snack and some milk about ten times a day.<br />
<br />
In all of this, where do we find time for ourselves?<br />
<br />
If there's an answer, somebody tell me!Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-81420749783647143652016-10-17T09:54:00.003-05:002016-10-17T13:52:39.415-05:00Feelings. Nothing more than feelings? The other day my daughter had an epic meltdown at the doctor's office, I wrote about it on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/shelleyalexandracook1/posts/10154202239019563" target="_blank">Facebook</a>.<br />
<br />
Actually, we both had meltdowns. She threw the tantrum of all temper tantrums and when I couldn't console her, or figure out how to make her stop I lost my shit and started to cry too.<br />
<br />
I cried hard. I was a sloppy spectacle with makeup running down my face and a screaming, crying, kicking toddler at my feet. In hindsight it's kind of funny, but at that moment I was so frustrated, tired, defeated, embarrassed...<br />
<br />
So, I cried.<br />
<br />
You know how it is, once you finally cry after a good build up you need to let it all out. I can't remember the last time I cried before this. There had been many times that I wanted to, but I never did because I was busy, or because there were kids around and I didn't want to scare them... Or, just because I couldn't. I wanted to, but I couldn't.<br />
<br />
The good news is that both her and I started to settle when we got into the doctor's office. She finally let me hold her, so I nursed her until she was nearly asleep.<br />
<br />
That sleeping little girl is who the doctor saw when he came in. He said he didn't even hear her tantrum, so I must have looked insane when he saw me. My makeup was running down my face. My eyes were red. I was still reeling over both of our meltdowns...<br />
<br />
I tried to explain away my emotions.<br />
<br />
"She's just really hard right now."<br />
<br />
"I'm so tired."<br />
<br />
"I feel like I do everything."<br />
<br />
"I hit my breaking point."<br />
<br />
"I am overwhelmed."<br />
<br />
I told the doctor that today's tantrum was the biggest I'd ever seen. He then said something that I wasn't expecting...<br />
<br />
"I'm sniffing out a touch of postpartum depression," he said.<br />
<br />
Uh, what? Blank stare. doing math in my head. Nothing really adding up right now...<br />
<br />
"She's a year an a half old. I can't have that."<br />
<br />
"Yes you can..."<br />
<br />
Interesting.<br />
<br />
I left the office agreeing to followup with him in a month.<br />
<br />
Since he brought it up I have googled a lot about postpartum depression. Symptoms. People's experiences. Methods of therapy...I have talked to Chris and I've talked to some of my friends about his suggestion, and I've tried to determine if I am missing something that he saw.<br />
<br />
Can someone have something like postpartum depression and not know it? If so, that's pretty messed up...<br />
<br />
I know the doctor saw a mom of a strong-willed tantruming toddler who hit her breaking point. I know he didn't see her epic tantrum. I know that he's a professional with experience in dealing with children and mothers and all of that fun stuff...<br />
<br />
But I am not convinced that postpartum depression is something I have.<br />
<br />
I think it's worth looking into, and I think it's important to talk about because of the stigma attached to mental health issues, but I think I was just having a bad day.<br />
<br />
I feel overwhelmed and tired, and I feel like crying sometimes. I feel really busy, and guilty, and like I have lost myself in this whole parenting thing. However, I also feel happy, and proud and really connected to my daughter and step kids. I love being their mom and their Shelley. It's stressful as fuck sometimes, but I love it.<br />
<br />
I feel like I feel too happy too often to have PPD.<br />
<br />
Maybe I'm wrong.<br />
<br />
But, I don't think so...<br />
<br />
I did go through a dark period in the first couple of months of Riel's life. It was such an odd feeling because it was the most joyous darkness I've ever experienced. I was high. Euphoric. I was so in love with my new baby, but I was overwhelmed with thoughts of my own mortality. The feeling of not being around for her was crushing. I was so scared of the worst case scenario. I was anxious that she would get sick, or that I would get sick, or that one of us would die. It scared me, and it was a really dark spot during the happiest time in my life.<br />
<br />
What an oxymoron.<br />
<br />
I thought far too much about the 'what ifs.' <br />
<br />
With the intensity of the love I had for my daughter and the feelings of becoming a mom came a lot of fear and anxiety.<br />
<br />
I chalked it up to sleep deprivation and hormones.<br />
<br />
But now, I feel like I have moments, and sometimes days that are hard. I feel like that's just part of this life. Sometimes I am weak, sometimes I am strong. I'm still kind of new at this-- Eighteen months in...<br />
<br />
I will look into the doctor's suggestion of possible PPD. I am not ashamed or embarrassed of the notion that I could be thought to have (or even have) postpartum depression. I just don't think that I do have it.<br />
<br />
I suppose this post is to be continued...<br />
<br />Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-85455061338266070332016-08-07T21:26:00.002-05:002016-08-08T07:00:04.098-05:00Goodbye Gord. Thank you. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwSDDfRiogiAhoyNgRmfl9fqj3j9IzGR1q0pVkvivXgtLyhlK-9CzzTN_5NYjJ45k4QirgGoV_-kDqdGoNUqymXhCuxG7-7isRaBx3RWP1dL5zw254_HEy1kJ2flVKS0rtCdTCZctnd1VK/s1600/13900061_10153999878639563_2810680243016919729_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwSDDfRiogiAhoyNgRmfl9fqj3j9IzGR1q0pVkvivXgtLyhlK-9CzzTN_5NYjJ45k4QirgGoV_-kDqdGoNUqymXhCuxG7-7isRaBx3RWP1dL5zw254_HEy1kJ2flVKS0rtCdTCZctnd1VK/s640/13900061_10153999878639563_2810680243016919729_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
We went to The Tragically Hip concert on Friday night.<br />
<br />
I had been waiting for this day. This concert. This show. I'd been waiting for this one last experience with Gord Downie-- Canada's coolest older brother, for what seemed to be forever.<br />
<br />
There was a bitterness to yesterdays sweetness though, because through the excitement there was grief that this was goodbye.<br />
<br />
Cancer is eating his brain, and instead of dying at home he is living the fuck out of his life across Canada with one last hurrah. If the rest of the shows have been like the one in Winnipeg yesterday, then it's apparent that Gord is giving all of himself to his fans and to his art. He is doing what he loves, and he's not letting the vicious c stop him.<br />
<br />
He is the most alive dying man I have ever seen.<br />
<br />
It was surreal. It was loud, and everyone was wearing their Hip merch, old and new. It was like a cult of fans who had known The Hip for some of the most important years of their lives trying to hear the soundtrack of their lives just one last time. Trying to be part of something that actually meant more than just dollars and choreographed dances. Trying to see if they could spot the terminal cancer in the flamboyant Gord Downie. Trying to savour every second of the last time.<br />
<br />
It was truly an honour just to be there.<br />
<br />
The MTS Centre was packed. More people would have been there, but the demand for tickets was too high. Everyone there won some sort of karmic lottery. Robots snatched up all the tickets to sell on StubHub on the day they went on sale, and he general public never stood a chance unless they were part of a fan club, or a particular credit card holder. Or, unless like Chris and I, they had a friend who was willing to sell tickets to them.<br />
<br />
But for a show like this; a band like this; a part of your Canadian soul and identity, you just had to be there to say goodbye. Whether people were ripped off by scalpers or StubHub, or whether they got their tickets at face value, what the fans got was an experience that is invaluable.<br />
<br />
They got to say goodbye. They got to feel that goodbye...<br />
<br />
Gord Downie was supposed to live well into deep wrinkles and old eyes that had seen a lot. He was supposed perform countless more times, singing from his soul like the performer that he is. He was supposed to write more songs and poetry, and watch his kids grow and hold his grandbabies. He was supposed to live to see his own legend grow.<br />
<br />
He won't though. He will die, and a part of us will die with him.<br />
<br />
While his impending death truly is tragic, right now he is still alive and he is still giving one helluva performance. Winnipeg was an incredible sendoff to a man and a band who have been part of the soundtrack of my life since I was a kid.<br />
<br />
Thank you Gord. May you find peace in whatever you believe, and may you live out the rest of your days happy, feeling loved and pain-free. Thank you for being part of my life for...Well, for what seems like forever. Thank you for doing this tour, and for sharing yourself with all of us.<br />
<br />
We love you Gord.Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-44488563647717571062016-05-24T09:56:00.000-05:002016-05-25T10:50:28.952-05:00On life and death. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizIlPrkjciRLndxEH0zaH_VBm68fqNXATBbTYRY7l1U-1bOGHoc7qd3TG-gSjRBPCPZO9fM2EVQEmtq-WytEXzdDqIuW0c5JLdpepba8NAiqYWUkxK7YdBHyug02A1fX9zSp3tDzT8rjH-/s1600/Guide+No.+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizIlPrkjciRLndxEH0zaH_VBm68fqNXATBbTYRY7l1U-1bOGHoc7qd3TG-gSjRBPCPZO9fM2EVQEmtq-WytEXzdDqIuW0c5JLdpepba8NAiqYWUkxK7YdBHyug02A1fX9zSp3tDzT8rjH-/s640/Guide+No.+5.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
We are interring my grandma tomorrow, on her birthday. She died in November, but the ground was frozen so we decided to wait.<br />
<br />
I bought a box to put her ashes in and I dropped it off at the funeral home the other day. The funeral director brought her remains out-- a cardboard box, smaller than a shoe box, filled with a tagged bag of sand. That was it. That was all that was left of her. This bag of greyish coloured sand.<br />
<br />
It's hard to believe that someone so mighty; someone who, until recently, had been a part of what I know as forever is now just a box of sand.<br />
<br />
I've tried to look for signs that she is still with me, and that there is something far more divine after this life. I've consoled myself and others by saying that she has finally been reunited with her beloved George, and her sisters and brothers.<br />
<br />
I wear her necklace because it reminds me of her.<br />
<br />
I realized that I am not at peace with her being gone. I am not at peace with what I believe in. I get scared when I think about death, or what it must feel like to die. I get scared when I think about me, or the people I love not existing anymore...<br />
<br />
What if there is no heaven? What if this is all there is? What if there is a heaven, but I won't go because I don't know exactly what to put my faith into?<br />
<br />
When I think about it I want to cry and throw up all at the same time.<br />
<br />
When the funeral director showed me the sand I didn't make a big deal about my feelings. I've learned that big feelings like the ones I am having are hard to share. People get scared or uncomfortable, or they think you are being dramatic-- She was an old lady, she lived a hell of a lot longer than a lot of people. I should be so lucky to have had her for so long. Get over it.<br />
<br />
I know. I really should.<br />
<br />
But there, I got lost in a whole bunch of deep feelings and I didn't want to sound crazy. I was calm and I thanked the funeral director and I left.<br />
<br />
When I got into my car the lump in my throat became too big and I started to cry.<br />
<br />
I cried for her and I cried for myself.<br />
<br />
I've struggled a lot with her death, and with the idea of death in general. This isn't new, I've always been afraid, but my fears have intensified since the birth of my daughter and the death of my grandma.<br />
<br />
When Riel was born, my mortality hit me so fast and so hard I didn't even see it. I remember the second she was born, I was forever changed and I was euphoric. Here was this brand new life with everything ahead of her and yet there was this part of me that was already grasping at all the time I have with her. I remember thinking that all the rest of my life would never be enough time. I was so overcome with emotion that I just held onto her and I cried.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it was hormones, or a realization of how precious life and love are. Whatever happened to me that night changed me and it changed the way I see life.<br />
<br />
Eight months later, on the night my grandma died I remember smoothing her hair and telling her to let go. She was in a deep, medically induced sleep. Her breathing was forced and she was never going to wake up again. She was lingering in the land of the living, but death was all around. Even the weather sensed it. Tiny raindrops fell from the sky, as if to weep for her in her last hours of life.<br />
<br />
In that moment I wanted her to die because life seemed so forced and I wanted her to be at peace. I wasn't thinking about the days, years or lifetime after she died. I wasn't even considering that her death would leave this emptiness and sense of wonder. I was just in that moment and I just wanted her to be at peace.<br />
<br />
When someone is dying, it's hard to watch those final moments.<br />
<br />
That evening her pastor came. He held her hand and he read Psalm 23:4<br />
<br />
"<i>Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff comfort me.</i>"<br />
<br />
It seemed so cliché. I wanted to laugh and weep all at the same time.<br />
<br />
I left her, intending to come back. I had to get my daughter home, and my parents were there to sit with my Amma as she drifted away.<br />
<br />
And then my mom called me, maybe an hour after I got home, and she told me "Shell, she's gone."<br />
<br />
My grandma meant different things to different people. I won't lie and say that she had great relationships with everyone, because she didn't. But, her and I had something special. She was one of my greatest loves and even though she was old and I was lucky to have her for as long as I did, my fear and my grief know no such logic.<br />
<br />
I miss her. I miss her and I am so scared that I will never, ever see her again.<br />
<br />
In life there is nothing more true than the fact that we are all going to die. It's the one constant. I remember asking Amma if she was afraid of dying. She said no. She believed in God and heaven, death wasn't an end for her.Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-64816755899944975202016-04-18T23:14:00.000-05:002016-04-20T23:14:57.467-05:00For my Riel on her first birthday...Riel,<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Today you are one year old. What a year we've had!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
You slowly made your way into this world at 10:08 p.m. on April 18, 2015 after more than 24-hours of labour. Looking back, I don't know how I did it, or how anyone does it. Giving birth is such a powerful and surreal experience. Before I actually did it, I was so scared and unsure. Yet, when the time came, motherhood came over me and I became so strong and able. My friend Melissa (a midwife) told me that you had to work just as hard and I did for you to be born. Her words and the meaning behind them pushed me to keep going, because I owed it to you.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When you were finally here I held you close and I cried and I cried. You were so little and new, yet it was like I'd known you my whole life. I never knew how incomplete life was before you. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's so strange how much we change when we become mothers. We can plan and anticipate what is to be, but babies and life don't follow plans all that well. In fact, when I was pregnant I set out to fit you into my busy life. I didn't want anything to change and I didn't even consider that you wouldn't fit, no matter how tiny you were. No, you changed everything and turned my world upside-down. But, from the moment I met you I was madly in love and I embraced the new journey.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Our year has been the best year of my life. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Seeing how much you change and grow is astounding. Every day it seems that there is something different or new. There is so much change in such a short time, sometimes it's hard to comprehend.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I won't lie and say that there haven't been moments that were hard, or that there were times when I just wanted to feel like myself again. Motherhood is constant. Even when you're asleep, or are in the care of someone else you are the forefront of my thoughts. I have to give you all of me because you are so small, and you still need all of me. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But childhood is so short, and I will get myself back soon enough. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I remember your dad telling me that this man he used to work with said to him one time "Don't ever wish your childrens' childhoods away, because one day they will be gone." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That hit me. It hit me hard.</div>
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<br /></div>
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There have been moments when you have been hard-- crying, fussy, sick, overtired... and I found myself wishing that you'd just stop being so helpless, or I start wishing that you were just a little bigger so I could reason with you. Then I remember that this time is so short, and that I don't want to wish your childhood away. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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Tomorrow a new routine starts for us. I start back at work, and you'll be in the care of someone else. I never thought I'd feel so emotional about this, but I do. I don't want to miss anything. I know you'll be fine, but I am so scared to miss anything, including the hard moments.<br />
<br />
I love you my girl, you are the light of my life. </div>
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<br /></div>
Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-74843105540011910542016-01-07T12:37:00.000-06:002016-01-07T12:51:11.553-06:00On motherhood.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM1zXsC66y6sT5bnTCDdUBVLH7RjlF1ADhRGlOt_Rx75d95r_BvgZewqANmtSmbjxf0ewleY7HVqUGwpR7FHKC5J_HeEpb2_HypEUlhwd_tZj9PT4loxbUwcj9ReSqMR82h6SEC-OB3o38/s1600/111022.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM1zXsC66y6sT5bnTCDdUBVLH7RjlF1ADhRGlOt_Rx75d95r_BvgZewqANmtSmbjxf0ewleY7HVqUGwpR7FHKC5J_HeEpb2_HypEUlhwd_tZj9PT4loxbUwcj9ReSqMR82h6SEC-OB3o38/s400/111022.gif" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><b>Annnnnd, I shared a For Better or For Worse comic strip. I am my mom now.</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I need to write more.<br />
<br />
It's not that I don't have the inkling to write, I do. I just feel like I have nothing to say. Nothing that people will be interested in reading. Nothing that I can turn into a poignant lesson. Nothing that escapes my world of dirty diapers, sleep-training, constant requests for milk or snacks, temper tantrums, whining, burned dinners, stupid arguments with a three-year-old and a 39-year-old... Or, whatever else is forecasted into my day.<br />
<br />
There are some days that the most exciting thing I have to brag about is the gigantic booger I picked out of my baby's nose, or some sale I found on something our family needs or regularly uses. I had intended to spend my year off getting back into shape, writing more, and doing freelance work-- even going back to part time work as a server, all while raising my baby.<br />
<br />
So far I have accomplished none of this.<br />
<br />
My life is chaotic most days, but it's the kind of chaos that isn't sexy or even particularly interesting. It's messy, busy, dirty, and exhausting. Frankly for most people it's also probably really boring. I can only imagine how quickly my friends grow tired of hearing stories about my baby and my step kids. I don't do much else right now, so I seldom have anything else to write (or post) about.<br />
<br />
I waiver between whining about how hard being a mom and a step-mom is to marvelling at the wonders of it. -- This experience is rich in so many ways. I often have a house full of kids who say and do the funniest things. I get to watch all three of them grow and change, and I have a part in that. It's really neat.<br />
<br />
I have a responsibility to all of them-- For the older two, I am their Shelley. I am not trying to be their mom, but I do play a mom role when they are with us. We have a special relationship, and I love them like they are my own. For the baby, I am her mom. At this stage of her life, I am her everything that she is learning to slowly venture away from, and grow her own wings so to speak.<br />
<br />
I love the kids. I love our life. I love our blended family. But it's really, really hard sometimes.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqdzHI4UTyr7XlcnSAdJdT0T6qZySSf4pWQIad4v-sUuNdi4c562_Z6OSHD3SBB1UZlJGQlJAR19FtmIAuRScfvVf6StkbEABmxf5EAxOjFvKXqovIONbt-wnoEqV3LsbK63FASUourkiB/s1600/parenting.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqdzHI4UTyr7XlcnSAdJdT0T6qZySSf4pWQIad4v-sUuNdi4c562_Z6OSHD3SBB1UZlJGQlJAR19FtmIAuRScfvVf6StkbEABmxf5EAxOjFvKXqovIONbt-wnoEqV3LsbK63FASUourkiB/s320/parenting.png" width="320" /></a>It's hard, but not the way I thought it would be. I knew that becoming a parent and step-parent would mean that I would have to make sacrifices. I knew that the kids would always come first, but it didn't click just how much they would need me at times, and how much of myself I would lose.<br />
<br />
There are some days that I seemingly spend every waking moment tending to the needs of someone else. The baby, she's in a really sucky phase right now. She's mobile and she's into everything. She is strong and often fearless. While she wants to explore her world, she usually wants to do it while I am right beside her. If I venture away, she begins to whine or cry. Most of the time she doesn't want to be held or comforted, she just wants me there, watching her.<br />
<br />
The older two kids, who live with us half time and with their mom the other half, are self sufficient for the most part, though the requests for snacks, treats, to play with them, to put on a show, to wipe a bum, to break up an argument, for a drink of milk, to play outside, or to just look at them while they do something are plenty.<br />
<br />
This is parenthood, and I strive to be good at it, but sometimes -- often times -- there is this sinking feeling that I am not doing enough with them because I am always doing something for them. And I don't mean doing something for them in that entitled, "<i>I have to teach them to do things on their own, because they are spoilt</i>" sort of way, I mean I'm always doing something for them because they are all young and they are still learning, and they need me to do things for them. They're kids.<br />
<br />
I think that's the hardest part: Somebody always needs something, and even though I love them, it's hard to always give. Some days I feel like I have nothing left, and they are relentless in the things that they need or want.<br />
<br />
But I digress, while I sometimes feel like I have nothing left of myself for myself, each of the kids give me something back in their own way.<br />
<br />
Like, when I am tired, haggard, have pureed lentils all over my shirt and in my hair, the three-year-old will ask for "tuddles" (cuddles) and tell me "Shelley, you boot-e-ful." He is such a sweet boy.<br />
<br />
The six-year-old is such a good big sister to both her little brother and the baby. She is so nurturing, and the two little ones adore her. I know she is only six, but she is so helpful it's a godsend. She has such compassion for the little ones, sometimes I will look up from whatever I am doing and I will see her teaching or encouraging one of the little ones to do something. She is a shy little girl, but she is a born leader.<br />
<br />
And the baby, well she does this thing where she will look over and smile at me for no reason, and even when I feel like I have failed or that I am not enough, she will smile at me like I am the greatest person in the whole wide world. It makes me feel loved and like I am doing something right.<br />
<br />
Parenting is hard. It's downright brutal sometimes. But, when you have kids time moves quickly and they are always changing. One day I will probably yearn for them to want and need me as much as they do right now.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-29211803633298915912015-11-27T10:29:00.001-06:002015-11-27T14:59:18.917-06:00Grief. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhxDkopA4Nx42_JqpPz0ntFuLhXkAZfcMzJ9IOLj0D_WJhNRUvLvXyAVXkNGLAxXUtWZh3sB6FErvuzX0CVOpZRPJx33kmJgUIXbyGDuc6dF2Vhu4eWLHLkMqxt-LDyk2WtO9vTI7vuOn/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-11-27+at+10.28.03+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="337" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhxDkopA4Nx42_JqpPz0ntFuLhXkAZfcMzJ9IOLj0D_WJhNRUvLvXyAVXkNGLAxXUtWZh3sB6FErvuzX0CVOpZRPJx33kmJgUIXbyGDuc6dF2Vhu4eWLHLkMqxt-LDyk2WtO9vTI7vuOn/s640/Screen+Shot+2015-11-27+at+10.28.03+AM.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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The other day I was in Costco and I saw this gigantic box of After Eight chocolates and I thought to myself "<i>I should buy those for Amma for Christmas...</i>" and then I remembered that she's gone.<br />
<br />
I felt like someone punched me in the gut, knocking the wind right out of me. I had this burning pain in the pit of my stomach that I'd only ever felt a few times before in my life-- The same feeling I got when my mom called and told me that Amma had died a week earlier.<br />
<br />
I know she's in a better place regardless of if there's a heaven or not. Her dementia got so bad near the end that anywhere else would be a better place than in her fraying mind and aging body. But still, my heart hurts knowing that she is gone forever.<br />
<br />
Dementia stole so much from my grandma, but sometimes there would be a flicker of the old Amma that would emerge. Every now and again it seemed like she would steal a moment back from the brain altering disorder, and even just for a minute she was there.<br />
<br />
And now, there are no more of those minutes. No more of the bad ones either. All that is left are my memories. I'm grateful for those, but they'll never be enough and I am scared they too will start to fade. I am scared that I will forget what she smelled like, or the sound of her voice. I am scared I will forget how her hands felt like old, soft tissue paper, or that I will forget the way she used to say "<i>mmm-hmmm and uh-huh</i>" with a smile when we'd tell her a story.<br />
<br />
I feel like I lost her twice; once to dementia and once to death. Although she was old, and she lived a very long and good life, that kind of logic doesn't seem to soothe my heartache. Only time will.<br />
<br />
I suppose, standing there in the holiday chocolate isle at Costco, I was still getting used to the fact that Amma is gone. Everything was normal until that second when I realized the new normal is that I will never buy her another giant box of chocolates for Christmas. I will never go visit her at the nursing home, I will never hug her or kiss her, and I will never see her again.<br />
<br />
Grief is such a strange thing. When it washes over you it can make you feel a million different emotions all at once. It's such a personal experience; different for everyone, yet the same in that you are mourning and dealing with a loss.<br />
<br />
I already know that time is the only thing that can mend a broken heart. I know that my sadness will never be completely gone, but in time my heart will begin to heal and when I think of Amma, or when I see a giant box of chocolates that I know she would have liked for Christmas, it will fill me with happiness and warmth.<br />
<br />
Right now it's hard, but I am grateful for all the time we spent together when she was alive and all the memories we made.<br />
<br />
I miss you Amma.<br />
<br />
<br />Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-3082176232284978542015-11-17T10:25:00.003-06:002015-11-18T09:38:53.994-06:00Goodbye Amma.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG3rAaPB9KYtkghmnL99QuOxOW0ZYxSoQ0PQm4-Fdad75lD3PLKCgtoBbCOylkOfIhohkDtM7fgX7Ctc8qbMDvZFZ463KO6E8OV09Oe4Ejz7Lc9KzXhcACFCX11FDrcx2cmwyhABuXqEG2/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-11-17+at+9.46.47+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG3rAaPB9KYtkghmnL99QuOxOW0ZYxSoQ0PQm4-Fdad75lD3PLKCgtoBbCOylkOfIhohkDtM7fgX7Ctc8qbMDvZFZ463KO6E8OV09Oe4Ejz7Lc9KzXhcACFCX11FDrcx2cmwyhABuXqEG2/s320/Screen+Shot+2015-11-17+at+9.46.47+AM.png" width="320" /></a>My grandma died yesterday.<br />
<br />
She was old, her body was frail and broken and her mind was fading. She lived a long and mostly healthy life, it was her time. Even though I know all of this, my heart is still broken.<br />
<br />
I miss her.<br />
<br />
I take comfort in that she believed in the promise of a heaven and an afterlife, where I can only imagine her being reunited with her beloved husband George (who died 55 years ago, and who she still loved with every fibre of her being) and her sisters and brothers. I am happy that she is free from her dementia, which wreaked havoc on her mind and emotions, leaving her a lost and confused shell of her former self. I am grateful that I got to hold her hand and say goodbye.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
We shared a special bond, Amma and I. She was my dramatic, high-strung and hypersensitive kindred spirit. Memories of her are sprinkled throughout my whole life. I am so grateful for those.<br />
<br />
Amma was the type of grandma who showed up to every school concert, awards ceremony, assembly, sporting event, function, presentation... Sometimes she'd be the only one, but if there was a seat for her to sit in she was sitting in it, waving excitedly and documenting our five seconds of glory with blurry group pictures that she'd develop and circle the tiny speck that we were in the group.<br />
<br />
She was so proud of all her kids and grandkids.<br />
<br />
She'd clip and save any mention of us in a newspaper or a newsletter, and she'd save those clippings in a box she made especially for that purpose. She'd gladly read school papers and assignments with enthusiasm, and she'd wear or somehow display any type of craft you gave her. When we were kids you would have been hard pressed not to see Amma wearing some hideous handcrafted broach or necklace that was made of plastic or from glitter and tiny pompoms.<br />
<br />
In her head and her heart she thought her grandchildren were a thousand times better than we actually were. She bragged and exaggerated our accomplishments to anybody who would listen-- to her friends, to our friends, to doctors, cashiers, strangers she met in an elevator...<br />
<br />
My whole life I've known this day would come. Partly because my grandma was always old and partly because when we got older she would follow us around her apartment with masking tape and a pen saying "Put your name on the things you want when I die."<br />
<br />
I suppose you could call her a planner. She said she didn't want anybody fighting over her stuff after she died, so she opted for this "calling dibs" method instead.<br />
<br />
Amma was an artist, a sculptor, a proud Icelander. She had refined taste and never left her apartment without lipstick. She always looked perfect and polished. She loved shopping at the Bay-- because that was were she landed her first job in the 1930s the hosiery department. She loved good food, especially desserts, and she was always up for a phone call or a visit.<br />
<br />
Amma was a real special lady.<br />
<br />
It's the strangest feeling, when someone has been a part of your forever and then they're not anymore.<br />
<br />
My grandma's dementia had advanced a great deal in recent years. Life had become really hard. Last week she fell and broke her hip. She had surgery, but she was so frail and it was her time. Thanks to the doctors and nurses at the Seven Oaks Hospital, she passed away in comfort, without pain last night.<br />
<br />
<i>Amma, I love you so much. I am so grateful for you and all the wonderful times we had. I'm so thankful that you and Riel got to meet each other. I will tell her stories about you, and us, and about all of our shenanigans. You are in my heart forever.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3P_MeakjwjIZx_7fT2f8cdzjaxrVffXrZRCni9J70Vmk7UhnEADzWF0rSlwxUrFsod2FxN8kVAEEtC64xUi7KY5vF2ljMz8Te7GzzGI5fTq4qAdsiCvYimVK2Jg7U43oejF4a8A4URCDM/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-11-17+at+9.59.05+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3P_MeakjwjIZx_7fT2f8cdzjaxrVffXrZRCni9J70Vmk7UhnEADzWF0rSlwxUrFsod2FxN8kVAEEtC64xUi7KY5vF2ljMz8Te7GzzGI5fTq4qAdsiCvYimVK2Jg7U43oejF4a8A4URCDM/s400/Screen+Shot+2015-11-17+at+9.59.05+AM.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<i><br /></i>Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-57391312769653902272015-10-22T10:41:00.003-05:002015-10-22T14:00:12.453-05:00OPINION: Nobody should be shamed for their attire.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhATUxPq4PpgYaAkZpvMfSbXKt7WW1IKWeEBaJK3gC-MoyRhSKmvrRbaOeOB8QKPaG1YzwXCtO_vmtEXI-OwKp3zJ5iapPwp1gkLndnHyRP4Irq5v1dId4hf13dgwfzhGXpflqsykRnAw_K/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-10-21+at+10.15.41+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhATUxPq4PpgYaAkZpvMfSbXKt7WW1IKWeEBaJK3gC-MoyRhSKmvrRbaOeOB8QKPaG1YzwXCtO_vmtEXI-OwKp3zJ5iapPwp1gkLndnHyRP4Irq5v1dId4hf13dgwfzhGXpflqsykRnAw_K/s320/Screen+Shot+2015-10-21+at+10.15.41+PM.png" width="296" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yesterday the CBC posted an opinion piece by a woman of the name Jo Holness called 'Jo Holness Takes a Stand Against Women Wearing Tights in Public.'</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />Holness begins her essay by proclaiming that she is a "long time fan of the vagina." She speaks of her admiration for the vagina by using a number of different names for it, for five whole paragraphs before she gets to her whole point of the essay. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After awkwardly marvelling the wonders of the female anatomy she drops this bomb: "<i>However, as much as I admire the range and ability of your garden variety hoo-haw, I think I could quite happily live the rest of my days without seeing one more of them packed into a pair of whisper-thin tights or yoga pants</i>."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From there it just gets worse. Holness writes "<span style="color: #333333; line-height: 18.900054931640625px;"><i>As a woman of the 21st century, I believe we have every right to put on our bodies whatever the heck we want — from burqa to bikini — with no apologies to anyone...</i>" before killing her entire point with:</span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 18.900054931640625px;"> "</span><span style="color: #333333; line-height: 18.900054931640625px;"><i>But just because you can do something, does that mean you should do something?</i>"</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.900054931640625px;">Barf.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My gut feeling is that the writer was trying to be funny...Witty even, but instead the entire piece comes off as condescending and judgemental. Quite frankly, it's a weird fit for the webspace of the public broadcaster who has done such an incredible job covering some of Canada's most marginalized women; The nearly 1,200 missing and murdered Indigenous women. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicTdumjeeqKI_erdqqP4vDwZZAN-CVq5lW5640w5c2f20CO_EmIWw1Tzdb8R1o8B-BT0BcAAoG1eN9lv6r7iU4Je2q3RHI8DnR8XVwXrufCJnBOmBchHXxhXSbX1wcuCXE2GX8gqvFIfYX/s1600/public+shame.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicTdumjeeqKI_erdqqP4vDwZZAN-CVq5lW5640w5c2f20CO_EmIWw1Tzdb8R1o8B-BT0BcAAoG1eN9lv6r7iU4Je2q3RHI8DnR8XVwXrufCJnBOmBchHXxhXSbX1wcuCXE2GX8gqvFIfYX/s320/public+shame.jpg" width="241" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am so mad about this post. I am mad that the CBC published something that is so shaming towards women. I'm mad because in this day and age we live in a society that thinks it's ok to objectify women and girls and then tell them what they can and can't wear. I am so mad that I keep seeing social media posts about young girls being sent home from school because of their clothes. I am mad because this opinion piece is just another step back for women... We already live in a society that makes us prove that we've been raped or sexually assaulted before anyone even believes us because our word is seldom good enough. We live in a society that is so quick to blame our "slutty" attire and our attitudes rather than our attackers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This opinion piece just reinforces all of that slut-shaming bullshit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Aside from the sexist undertones, this post is shameful in that it's making fun of people for what they wear. Look man, I wear tights and yoga pants regularly. I wear them even more now that I've had a baby and my pre-pregnancy clothes don't quite fit me anymore. I also wear them because they're comfortable. I wear them because they're easy. I wear them because I want to wear them. As far as I know my vulva isn't showcased, but if it is, stop looking. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In 2011 (and probably a number of other times) I have written about tights not being pants. I remember vividly trying to be funny while hammering home my point about how I wore some see-through tights and unintentionally showed everyone "the goods." It will take you five seconds to do a Google search and find this post. Looking back, I fully admit that I was a jerk for trying to tell anyone what they should or shouldn't wear. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jo Holness is entitled to h</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">er opinion about yoga pants. I'm disappointed that the CBC chose to publish it.</span>Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-982790004592236115.post-91529511655108151572015-06-30T10:04:00.002-05:002015-06-30T17:38:05.126-05:00Forever.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjlFlOjHYaURlb2mfPkfTrFS80SiaZh8n-aPOOvu7rhpzFYfhY_4YBp-jNBeHEV6_gAVA_I2ya-Hh7sZfN826PvoNk4h99fQem-XklP8aaqCtWcLHdywEIDEXSGx_hkyvjdZRPwdZ7XocC/s1600/il_fullxfull.321439246.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjlFlOjHYaURlb2mfPkfTrFS80SiaZh8n-aPOOvu7rhpzFYfhY_4YBp-jNBeHEV6_gAVA_I2ya-Hh7sZfN826PvoNk4h99fQem-XklP8aaqCtWcLHdywEIDEXSGx_hkyvjdZRPwdZ7XocC/s400/il_fullxfull.321439246.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: red;">Buy this decal on Esty <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/95565661/ill-love-you-forever-ill-like-you-for" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></td></tr>
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One of the first things I remember thinking after Riel was born was that I wanted to live forever.</div>
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There was this beautifully terrifying moment where I held her against my skin, trying to soothe her as we both cried, and I remember hearing my inner monologue actually say: "<i>I want to live forever..." </i> </div>
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It was in that second, in all of my joy, that I came to the sober realization of my own mortality. <br />
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My daughter's birth set into motion the circle of life. Her birth and life showed me that my universe would no longer end at me. It made me realize that one day, hopefully far, far away, I will die and she will live. It gave me faith that there has to be more than this life, because I never want to stop loving her, even after this life is over. And that has to be enough to believe there is something more. It scared me to think of her in a world without me in it to protect her. Others could try, but nobody else will ever be able to love and protect her like I can.<br />
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In all of my happiness the night she was born, there was a sadness knowing there would be parts of her that I would never know or see.<br />
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I think that's the part that really enlightened me, the intense mix of emotions that come along with having a baby. I didn't expect this, because It's not just love, or if it is, this was a new kind of love that I was never capable of feeling before. </div>
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I can't really explain it except to say that meeting Riel opened up parts of me-- my mind, my soul and my heart-- that I didn't know existed. It made me see this new symmetry of life-- this beautiful centre of the universe, where she was just entering and I am partway done. Our time together, though it was just beginning, wasn't ever going to be enough. It was profound and beautiful to love as much as I loved.</div>
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I knew I would love my baby with all my heart, but I didn't expect to feel all the other feelings.<br />
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Ten weeks in, I am still trying to articulate these feelings. They have become even more real in the fact that time seems to be racing by, and that both Riel and I (more so Riel) are changing and evolving so rapidly. It's hard to keep up and absorb every second. Combine that with the fact that these new emotions and thoughts are fierce and confusing. I can understand why having a baby can lead to postpartum depression and baby blues... I don't think I am afflicted with either of those conditions, but I have a new empathy for others who may suffer.<br />
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Having a baby is so many things. It's wonderful and terrifying and it sure makes you aware of time and how quickly is passes by.<br />
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I'm not trying to be morbid, any time with my girl is special. I just never ever want it to end.<br />
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That old <a href="http://robertmunsch.com/book/love-you-forever" target="_blank">Robert Munsch book</a> kind of sums it up; <i>I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be... I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living my mommy you'll be...</i><br />
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I love you Riel. I'm still trying to figure out forever.</div>
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Shelley Cookhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09741469227905819281noreply@blogger.com0