Back Pack of Happiness

I stand here before you to confess that I have backpacks that I don’t know exactly what is at the bottom of.   I have a place in my storage area where my backpacks are neatly placed – and I refuse to get rid of any of them in the event that an occasion might call upon their use.  My backpack addiction is my children’s fault really.  In Sherry Duncan BC – Before Children - I was perfectly happy with my own version of a carrying device  ….. known as my back pocket.  I think that many men have it right.  They carry everything they need in their back pocket.  What they don’t have they don’t need or, they buy as they need it.  I liked that system until my 20’s.  It was my version of Cash and Carry.  In my 20’s I had kids and carried a back pack of sorts that had all the necessities of being a parent.  Diapers, spare clothes for the kids, bottles, little blankets and such were neatly folded in the sides.  I suppose this was a “mommy back pack”.  My kids spent a lot of time at the arena growing up.  It was so clever and truly ingenious (according to me) that I could have every thing a mom would need at the arena.  Extra mitts, a warm blanket, some extra money for French fries, chap stick – that bag got me through many an arena crisis and was always located in my trunk.  I don’t own these ones any more because by the end of the season it smelled like the inside of my son’s hockey gloves – if you have kids in hockey, I know you know that smell!

There are a number of life lessons that can be learned by examining the contents  of “said bag”.  I see the carrying device be it a purse/handbag/satchel/wallet/backpack  as a microcosm of the world of its owner.

You can tell a lot about a person by the size of their said carrying device. You can make all sorts of sweeping generalizations about a person based on the contents .  The objects that are chosen to tote around with her day after day will reveal (with the same 'eerie' reliability of a horoscope) the nature of who he or she really is.  

There tends to be two different types of carrying devices. First there is the small ones that hold the – the kind you need in a clutch – money, cards, pictures,  This type has all the little compartments. The carrying device has order, it has purpose, you look inside and everything has a place.  But there is always room for more! 

I asked my husband to get me his air miles card once in a while when my carrying device has been left at home.  He opens it up, and there it is: open the big part, then fold open the little part, then look 3 down on the right.  Exactly where it is supposed to be – in the Airmiles spot.  It never fails to amaze me.  Every time, the same place.  I tried once to mess with his mind and put it back in another spot – right there in the aisle of Safeway, I received a lesson that sound something like this: 

You put my card in the wrong spot

Oh, did I?

It has it’s own spot.

Oh, really?

When it is in it’s spot, I know where it is.

Well, you can still see it here, in this spot… Won’t this one do?

(sweat starting to form on his brow) No, it needs to go into it’s own spot

I’m sorry. 

I’m not sure what he thinks will happen if it goes into another spot – perhaps that it will inadvertently touch his master card and the two cards will book flights and hotel rooms using the air miles???

People with these types of carrying devices tend to get on my nerves.  They know exactly where everything is.    

My sister is one of these people.  She is so organized that there designated is a spot for the ticket from the parking lot dispenser. 

I find this particularly annoying because I am not an organized carrying device gal.   If you are not an “organized back pack” kind of person, then you may be more like me and the carrier of what I loving call the “comfy back pack bag”.  It sits in a lump.  You never know what treasures you might stumble upon next.  I love to clean it out at the Doctors office for 2 reasons: 1. I tend to have lots of time waiting and this is a legitimate way to pass time and 2. It’s really annoying to the “organized carrying device” person, who thinks that my back pack must carry the Flu virus, because everything else is in there….

Regardless of whether you carry an “organized receptacle” or a “slouch receptacle” a carrying device such as a back pack is a magical mystical place, a place which defies everything physicists have taught us about space and time.  A properly packed handbag can help you out in many situations. Occasionally, if you watch closely me during my lunch you may find me in search of the cell phone, you may see pause for a minute. If this is an “organized carry device”, then the phone is easily scooped out and answered by ring number 2.  That is because, when the phone rings, that person knows where to find it.  Because there is likely a “phone place”. 

I too have a phone pocket, but my phone is never in it.  I am not even sure why.  When I hear my phone ring I, almost never get to it.   This is what usually happens:

Slow motion:  a look of distress that crosses my face as I search for the “ring thing”  which is some place at the bottom of my bag .  By the time I find it, it has already gone to the answering machine.  I tend to get it just as it beeps at me.  I look at it and it says the same thing every time – missed call. (Have you ever wondered why electronics points out the obvious?  Just once, I would like my phone to blink at me and say – you look fabulous or enjoy the sun – no, it points out the obvious, missed call.)  I bet my sister doesn’t even know there is a little “missed call” light, because she never misses a call, because she is like the phone ninja when answering her phone.   I have missed the call and I know that in a few moments it will beep again letting me know that I now have a voicemail because by now the person is now listening to the voicemail message which says “I’m sorry, I missed your call, I have probably just found my phone at the bottom of my backpack and will call you back shortly, so please leave your phone number and I’ll get back to you…Oh and by the way, repeat your phone number at least twice, because by now I am searching for a pen and paper to write it on.   Thanks for calling…beeeep”.

Getting a deal on a backpack sends leads me to acting like an ADHD kid on Red Bull and a pound of chocolate. I like to look at them, feel them, hold them,  smell them -it’s really quite exhilarating.  I have many “make me feel good bags” rather than useful carry devices.  I have trouble throwing them out.  I have back packs for certain outfits and for certain moods. 

All my back packs have personality and purpose:– and I love to use this carrying device (Juicy Couture) when I am wearing jeans and going shopping with my daughters.  I feel young and hip and cool.  However, I have learned that you are immediately old when in a sentence you refer to yourself as “hip and cool”…  This carrying device makes me feel young – the end. This is my practically sized carrying device (Walmart Special) with a comfortable shoulder strap; it fits perfectly on the top of a travel suitcase with wheels or can easily be carried with my laptop inside.  It is both fashionable and practical.

I am going to share with you a few of the items that you will find in my carrying device and the 4 lessons that I think that anyone can take away working with children. Perhaps you can relate to your own work with children– be it a handbag, a purse, a back pack, a wallet, a diaper bag or even the coffee holders in your car.

I open this bag and we have a carrying device inside my carrying device.   How clever!

This brings me to Lesson #1 In the Back Pack of happiness:

The items: Family pictures, ID and Driver’s license.

Always remember what is most important. Never forget who you are or where you came from, or the lessons you have learned on your way that bring you to the place that you are today. The same can be said for the children with whom you work.  These children have someone in their family who loves them, they have a grandparent who adores them, they have dreams and aspirations for when they grow up.  Sometimes by the time these children get to you, they have been let down by someone they love so many times that they don’t know that you really mean you will help pick them up – for real.  You won’t give up when others have.  Making a connection with the children with whom you work is so important. 

The message:  Prioritize –  Put first things first  - remember that your laptop doesn’t hug back.  Work will be there tomorrow, but the same cannot always be said for the people.  You will never regret spending a little more time with the people whose pictures you carry in your wallet. Make a connection with the children with whom you work.  Completing curriculum is important, but it’s not hard to make connections that will go farther than you can ever imagine – a child may forget what you helped them learn – but they will never forget how you made them feel. Take time to smile, say good morning, have a nice day – and mean it.  It’s true, a smile goes a long long way.

Stay tuned for Lessons 2, 3 &4 in the coming days

Things that make me smile: Eleven Hints for Life

"Eleven Hints for Life"

It hurts to love someone and not be loved in return. But what is more painful is to love someone and never   find the courage to let that person know how you feel.

A sad thing in life is when you meet someone who means a lot to you, only to find out in the end that it wasnever meant to be and you just have to let go.

The best kind of friend is the kind you can sit on a porch swing with, never say a word, and then walk away feeling like it was the best conversation you've ever had. 

It's true that we don't know what we've got until we lose it, but it's also true that we don't know what we've been missing until it arrives.

It takes only a minute to get a crush on someone, an hour to like someone, and a day to love someone - but it takes a lifetime to forget someone.

Don't go for looks, they can deceive. Don't go for wealth, even that fades away.  Go for someone who makes you smile because it takes only a smile to make a dark day seem bright.

Dream what you want to dream, go where you want to go, be what you want to be. Because you have only one life andone chance to do all the things you want to do.

Always put yourself in the other's shoes. If you feel that ithurts you, it probably hurts the person too.

A careless word may kindle strife. A cruel word may wreck a life. A timely word may level stress. But a loving word may heal and bless.

The happiest of people don't necessarily have the best of everything they just make the most of everything that comes along their way.

Love begins with a smile, grows with a kiss, ends witha tear. When you were born, you were crying and everyone around you was smiling. Live your life so that when you die, you're the one smiling and everyone around you is crying.


Thank you Alishia Piazza for writing this.  
I hope you don't mind that I shared it.

Thinking about how Brock and I met - that's what makes me smile today

I have come to believe that there is no such thing as a “coincidence”.  We bring experiences into our lives or they happen to help us move on to the next experience.  I am not saying that when something “bad” happens that we have called that into our lives – it is a sad fact that bad things happen to good people.  However, I have been inspired lately by Brock, to put out more “good karma” than “bad” and to pay attention to what we are bringing into our lives by our words and actions.  This initial conversation with Brock was about envisioning what we want and then trusting in the Universe that it has heard and will grant all our “wishes”.   We had a wonderful evening talking about some of the events and things that we have “dreamed” into being.   For example, the mere fact that we met.

On the weekend just before our paths crossed, I wrote a mental list of all the things I was going to look for in a man.  He had to love kids and be willing to love mine.  He had to be from a family where the mom and dad loved each other so that he had a good role model on how this should look.  Preferably he would have no kids or crazy exes to complicated my life because my life was complicated enough.  I didn’t want a guy with any addictions or creepy hang-ups.  He would have to love camping and going to the lake.  He would have to be willing to treat me like a princess, because I deserved nothing less than Cinderella and the “Happily ever after”.  If he didn’t mind doing laundry that would be a bonus, but not a deal breaker. 

October 20, 1994 neither one of us was supposed to go out to the local pub for a drink.  He went to have a beer after work.  I went with a group of teachers after “meet the teacher” night.  Brock got into a cab and asked the driver to take him to any bar for a beer.  The driver chose Ernie O’s. (Coincidence or Divine intervention??)  When Brock walked in, he realized that it was cowboy night.  Every male in the establishment was wearing a cowboy hat and pointy boots.  The dance floor was filled with people two stepping to Brooks and Dunn and Hank Williams Junior.  Now, for those of you who know Brock, this should make you smile.  He was wearing his black leather jacket, ball cap and “biker” boots.  He is more the classic rock guy preferring, well almost anything, to country music.  After first thinking about leaving and going to a different bar, he decided to stay for one beer.  

Now, I had gone to the Legion for one beer.  All of my friends were going home except for one who was going to stop by Ernie O’s.  She was going to give me a ride home after she stopped in for just one quick spin on the dance floor (with a friend who was already there).

I wasn’t there for very long when I spied this very handsome guy sitting at the bar drinking a beer.  On cowboy night, I have to admit that he stuck out in his black leather jacket, boots and ball cap.  I watched him for a bit and made some quick assessments.  He was alone, no wedding ring a great smile and very handsome.  I noticed that he was showing all the usual signs of getting ready to leave including his beer was almost done and he was not ordering another one. I decided that I would go over and say hi.  What was I going to say?  I pondered this question as I made my way across the room.  By the time I got there, his back was turned and it looked like he was going to stand up.  I tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around.  I gave him the only pick up line I could think of “Hi, is your name Joe?”  He looked at me and chuckled “No, why do I look like a Joe?”   The rest, as they say, is history. 

 

Brock says that he knew he that I was “the one” the moment that he looked into my eyes.  Four days later, he called his mom and told her that he met the girl he was going to marry.  Four months later, we were married in front of our family and a few friends in a small intimate wedding.  Eighteen years later we have experienced raising our three kids, welcoming one grandbaby, living in 4 different communities, the heartbreaking loss of several people we love, 17 summers of camping and going to the lake and I feel like a princess every day. 

I am really glad that I thought to put into the “Universal request” that it would be nice if “the one” would not mind doing laundry, because what a great bonus that has turned out to be!

The Tragedy of Highway 63 - When you grow up - What do you want to be?

I live at the end of a long highway in Northern Alberta. In the fall, it is lined with orange and gold leaves.  Trees for as far as the eye can see.  A lake and a house appear around a corner.  However, this same Highway 63 has been coined “The Highway to Hell”  which I take offense with.  It is the highway to my city, that I love!  However, you cannot deny that it has been a Highway filled with sorrow.   In the last 6 years, there have been 46 deaths on this highway.  A public outcry has ensued as the result of the 7 lives lost in the most recent head on collision.  A 2 year old, an 11 year old and an unborn child were amongst the victims.  I feel compelled to stand up and cry – to weep – to beg the adults to stop taking unnecessary risks – stop killing our children.

Here is the story I am going to tell at a public rally on Saturday May 5^th:

Each of you here has consciously made a choice to attend to this event.

I come to you today as a mother, grandmother, teacher and woman who has dedicated most of my adult life to the service of children.

The recent senseless deaths of the three children Faith, Benjamin and the precious child who had yet to be born– and for each and every child that has died on that highway….that is why I am here. 

Perhaps these stories will remind you of your own son or daughter, your grandchild or the kid you coach in soccer.  The stories I am going to tell are based on real stories. See if you can see the similarities to your life.  Could this be your child’s story?

We often ask our children: 

When you grow up, what would you like to be?

Do you know a child who is 17 years old? This year I will graduate.  Next year I am going to go to the University of Alberta.  I don’t know what I want to “do with my life” but I can’t wait to get out of Fort Mac. On a trip to the city to buy my grad dress I remember listening to music an singing loudly.  My mom was such a safe driver.   She followed the speed limit.  She never drove dangerously.  She did everything right.  She was the best mom. But now, I won’t graduate in June, because I will still be in rehab for the fractures in my spine.

I am a child who watched her mom being airlifted from the crash scene and later died in the hospital – she never had the chance to be my mom.

Are there any mothers out there?  Are you willing to write letters and hold your government accountable?

Do you know a child who is 14 years old?

I am very impressionable. I usually put up a fight when there is a family trip to Edmonton, because I don’t want to go, but I go because I have to.  I watch my dad weaving in and out of the cars on the highway.  I hear him swear under his breath when there is a line of vehicles behind a big semi.  That must be really frustrating.  My dad drives fast and we are in a big truck, so that’s OK.  I wish my dad could read into the future, because when I am 18 I will want to be “just like my dad”.  So on my first solo trip to Edmonton as a new driver, I tried all of the things my dad showed me.  How to weave in and out of traffic, where the cops are likely to be, how to pass 4 or 5 cars at a time. I thought I could drive like my dad, but I didn’t realize that I could not.

I am a child who could have been the one to cure cancer but when I am 18 I will be killed trying to be “just like my dad”– and never have the chance to be  -a grown man with a family of my own.

Are there any parents out there?  Are you willing to start this movement for a safer 63 by modeling safe driving habits for your kids to follow?

Do you know a child who is 10 years old?  Oh how I loved to dance.  When I twirl across the floor it feels like I can float.  I love dogs and cats and snakes are especially nice.  Some day, I am going to own a whole zoo. When I left Fort McMurray with my family heading for Edmonton, I wish I would have said goodbye to my friends.  I am going to miss my final dance recital. 

I am a child who will never know what it feels like to have my first kiss.  I will never have a first dance at my wedding. I will never be in a play on Broadway – because as the passenger on my way to a dance competition in Edmonton, I have been killed and I will never had the chance to be.

Are there any residents of Fort McMurray out there?  Are you willing to consciously drive with safety in mind so that our children will longer become statistics of those killed Highway 63?

What of a child who is six years old. Could this be the story he tells?

Oh, how I love my Grandpa. I think he might be my best friend.  I didn’t see him very much lately because he was working far away, but we talked almost every day.   My papa smells like the sweetest after shave and he has the softest hands ever.  My papa gives me chocolates before supper and takes me to the park where he swings me so high – I feel like I can fly.

I am a child who will never know what it is like to have a papa who spoils me and gives me the biggest hugs ever – because he was killed on the way to work and he never had the chance to be my papa.

Mayor Blake – Mr. Scott Mr. Allan, Premier Redford and all of the elected officials who are listening to us today.. Are you willing to keep the promises of a safer 63 you have made recently?

Perhaps you know a toddler, just two years old;

My daddy, he was the best daddy ever.

He used to smell like diesel and I used to run to the window to watch his big truck pull into the driveway.  He was gone for a few days and then he would come home.

Boy, that was so exciting.   When he would walk in the door just before bed time, I would run and hide under the blanket on the couch and he would come find me and when he did, he would lift me in the air and twirl me around.  He and my mommy would hug and kiss and he would tell me how much he missed me.

My daddy was killed going to work in Fort McMurray.  Every day I look at pictures of him on the fireplace and the wall.  My mommy cries all the time and nothing I can do or say seems to help. 

I am a child who will never know what it feels like to have my daddy cheer when I score my first goal, or drop me off for my first day of school – because he never had the chance to be.

To the media  – Are you willing to keep this story front page news, tweet, text, writing to keep all accountable so that not one of the lives lost on this highway will be forgotten in an effort that no further lives will be lost?

Could this be the story of your unborn child?

I was so excited to make my entrance into the world in just 3 more months.

My mommy used to sing me songs and rub my back as I rocked back and forth inside her belly.  My daddy’s big voice used to say “Hey baby, are you in there?” I would kick his hand away and he would hug my mommy tight. 

But now that my mommy and I have been killed, my grandma will no longer be able to tickle my toes; my grandpa won’t be able to take me fishing; I will never know the feel of my mommy’s sweet cheek or my daddy’s bristly whiskers. 

I am a child who will never know sunshine or rain – because I never had the chance to be.

If you believe, like I believe, that children are the future…then let me ask you:

What will our future be?

To each and everyone of you who are here today– Are you willing to write letters, attend rallys, respond to the polls, speak up to others who are driving like idiots and not drive like one yourself???

And Finally ladies and gentleman; what I am going to do?  What ever I can within my power – to ensure that each and every child traveling that stretch of road has the chance to be starting with speaking to you hear today.

Trains, That's what makes me Smile

The Train Whistle

My dad was born on a rural Saskatchewan farm in 1922.  His father believed in the “rule by the back of my hand” method of discipline.  My father was often the recipient of the wrath of my grandfather, ne’er to receive a tender touch from the bitter old man.  As a child growing up on the farm during the depression, my father learned quickly how to evade both the belt and the hand.  He remembers clearly taking the blame for a pair of muddy shoes.  His 6 year old little sister had worn them home from school that day and stomped through a mud puddle.  This would be a clear sign that you did not respect your clothing and would certainly result in a willow across the backside.  After the old man taught him to “respect his clothing”, my father ran down the field until the tears stopped running down his cheeks.  He eventually found himself at the railroad track.  He knelt and prayed that God would send a train to take him away.  Each day, as soon as he could get away, he would run to the tracks with the same prayer.  Each night while laying in bed he could hear the old steam engine chugging up the hill and the mournful sound of the whistle echo through the river valley.    He dreamed of all the wonderful places he would go and the people he would meet.  This got my dad through his childhood.

At 21 years old, my dad got his first “real job”.  As a Saskatchewan farm boy, he had arms the size of tree trunks having hoisted thousands of bails of hay.  He was hired to shovel coal into the steam engine.  He had a job, on the train.  This led to a 45 year long career working on trains.

As a little girl, I thought that all children rode trains on the weekends.  As a train engineer you work whenever you are called.  This led to my dad heading for work at all hours of the day and night.  This often led to bedtime without my dad there to give me kisses.  I complained loudly which led to him giving me a kiss each day before he left for work, no matter the time of day or night.  As I grew to be a teenager, I thought the late night kisses would stop.  When I was especially poorly behaved, I didn’t expect him to kiss me, but he did.  Once I moved away to University, again I thought the kisses would stop, but he continued to come into my room and kiss my cheek.  Even if I were awake, I would lay perfectly still, because I was scared that if he knew that I was awake, it would break the magic spell.  I would no longer be his little girl and he would no longer be my daddy.

Having a dad as an engineer had its benefits.  I got to ride on the engine and pull the rope that blew the whistle.  I can still clearly remember the wheat fields waving in the distance through the open window, the smell of ripe canola filling the air, the sound of the steel moving along the tracks.  My dad and his friends laughter filling the air and tell tall tales about the “good old days”.  I remember sitting on my dad’s knee and smelling diesel on the collar of his shirt. 

Eventually, I was too old to sit on his knee and he was too old to drive a train.  Dad retired from the CN, from the train that had indeed taken him away.

In 2004 at 82 ears of age, my dad was laid to rest in a cemetery at the far end of the city, on the other side of the highway, right beside the railroad track.  The same track that ran passed the farm where he grew up and the same track he worked on for all those years.  As we were saying goodbye, some young engineman who knew my dad, “borrowed” a locomotive engine and brought it down to the closest point near the place were my father was being interred.  As the Priest said the final Amen, twenty-one whistles echoed through the crisp morning air.

“Goooooood – Byeeeeeee…..    Gooooooooood  - Byeeeeeeeeee”

Even now, the sound of the train approaching and the unmistakable sound of the train whistle reminds me of the sacrifice, love and stolen midnight kisses of a father and his little girl.  

Play: That's what makes me ....3

Yesterday, I was teaching a group of grade 11 and 12 students.  Topic - What is Play?  The first thing I do is pass out a big hunk of play dough.  (Thank you Erin who made it).  The students began to squish their fingers through the dough and I led a conversation on "What did you like to do when you were a child?"  It got me thinking about what I liked to do when I was a kid.

So, here is the "Top 10" list of my childhood memories of play (In no particular order).

10.  There was a 9:30 siren that could be heard around the whole city that told us that it was time to go home.  What a great system!

9. Centennial Park School was right across the street.  I used to spend hours on the swings.  One of my favourite memories at this school ground was going over to practice batting and catching with my dad.  I was a terrible batter, but a great catcher and thrower. My dad never got frustrated with me.  I supposed that is why as an adult playing slow pitch, I was back catcher or pitcher.  I couldn't bat and I couldn't run, but I could really throw a mean ball!  Thank you dad.

8.  Barbies!  Hours and hours and hours of barbies.  I had one with dark brown hair  (Barbie) and one with short red hair (Midge) and of course a Ken!  For my 10th Christmas I received a Barbie motor home for Christmas.  That summer, I spent hours and hours at our cabin taking my barbies on amazing trips across the yard, on cruises (our little red boat tied to the dock) or to exotic beaches in far away lands (the beach down the road).  I still have these two barbies on a shelf in my bedroom)

7.  "Chinese skipping"  I have no idea why it was called this or where the name came from.  This was a simple game you played at recess.  Two kids stand on each end of a large piece of elastic with the elastic at their feet.  They stand  about 4 feet apart or just enough room for a third kid to hop on, off and over the elastic.  You start with the elastic around the ankles, then up to the knees, on to the hips, then the tummy, under the arms and (only for the very few) the neck jump.  I usually made it to the tummy, but Pam was a machine and could get all the way to the neck.  (Isn't it funny what you remember from 40 years ago). One of the most popular was "M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I" Sometimes at home I would use chairs for the legs.

6.  Reading  I spent hours and hours reading.  I used to love reading the Nancy Drew series in particular. I would visit the public library where I wandered up and down the aisles choosing books at random.  I still love wondering bookstores and libraries.  (It's no surprise I have at least one kid who loves to read).

5. Saturday Matinee and the Centennial Swimming Pool

Every Saturday, there was a matinee.  As I recall, for $1.25 you got into the movie and could have a drink and a popcorn.  I recently went back to the theatre in my hometown to watch a movie.  I was surprised to walk in and find that it was not nearly as big as I remember.  I used to think that there were 50 rows to the front, but really there were only about 20.  That made me a little bit sad, not sure why, it just did.  Then there was the local swimming pool.  I remember on Saturday afternoons, the pool being so crowded that every1/2 hour they would blow a whistle that meant we all had to get out so they could make sure that no one was floating at the bottom.

When I think about all those kids who probably P'd in the pool, I feel a bit queasy, but oh my what fun we had!

4. Neighbourhood tag crossed with and hide and seek.  There was a huge group of kids who lived a few blocks over from my house.  We used to play this game where someone would be "it" and the rest of the kids would scatter around the houses.  Then "it" would go looking for kids.  As they went away from the doorway they were standing in, then kids would sneak/run to be "safe".  If the hider got there first, they were safe.  If "it" got there first, they were caught.  I don't why this was so much fun - it just was.

3. Mrs. Beasley: I remember hours and hours of playing house.  I used to love making tents in the living room with chairs to hold up the sheets.  I had a few dolls and teddy bears that were the kids.  No one doll in particular stands out in my memory, except "Mrs. Beasley"  Now, there was a doll!  She had a wonderful blue dress with white polka dots.  She had little round spectacles and when you pulled a string at the back she would say things like "Tell me a story" and "You are my best friend".  She was the doll of "Buffy" on a TV show called Family Affair (now that was riveting television!)  Anyway, I never owned Mrs. Beasley, but oh, how I wanted to.  One of the kids I grew up with had one...Sandra Cooper.  I used to stop by her house on my way home, just to hold Mrs. Beasley for a few minutes.  Two years ago, on Christmas morning, I opened my very own Mrs. Beasley doll.  I was transported back to being a child.  The same feeling joy and surprise came over me that I imagined it would all those years ago.  (Thank you Brock).





2. School  It will come as no big surprise that I played school from as far back as I can remember.  I remember in grade 1 we had the "Dick and Jane" reading book series.  I have a very clear memory of reading to my teddy bears, all lined up on my bed.  I also remember going in the Labbe's basement and setting up chairs so they could be the kids and I would be the teacher.  I would make little activities for everyone to do.  One time, we brought ritz crackers.  As I recall, Lynne Labbe became the priest (very progressive thinking might I add) and we use the ritz crackers for communion. Now on the topic of the Labbe kids, of which there were 7, Rene (the dad) was the best tooth puller in the neighbour hood.  He would use his big pliers and pretend to yank and pull and all of a sudden, out it would pop. I went home with tooth in hand and a quarter.  Thank you Mr. Labbe! I played school every summer and couldn't wait to get back each September.  Mrs. Kovacks, my Kindergarten teacher, scarred me for life with her red pen. (I never use red pen to this day)  Ms. Lewins, my grade 1 teacher, was so tall and beautiful and kind.  Mr. ____(wow, old age sets in) who used to say "Oooooh dis guy here" and put his knuckles on your head (never mine, but I was reasonably scared he would) and of course, my favourite childhood teacher Mrs. Corbeil.  She taught me grade 3.

I truly have always wanted to be a teacher.

1. The Kids:  Here, in no particular order, are the kids who were important in my childhood (up to about age 13):  Tammy Donahue, Patsy McCuaig, Sandra Cooper, Janet Soloski, Janet Huard, Pam Harper, Brian/Larry/Lynne/Dana Labbe, Susan Bosear, Carmy Kovaks, Sandra Mantach, Darlene Singer, Karen Piper and Jackie and Ken Hartman. (An assortment of boys that I went through elementary school with include: Dennis, Glenn, Alan, Stanley, Jimmy and Craig).

Sharing all these wonderful "playful" memories, that's what makes me smile!

Our new Puppy; That's what makes me.....2

This week, we welcomed a new addition to the family. The moment he arrived we knew that we were in love.  He has a regular sleep/eat schedule (so far) and Sophie thinks he is her personal little toy.  Mac (Yorkshire Terrier)  is not much bigger than a roll of paper towel, however he thinks he is the size of a black lab.  He loves to chase toys (and unfortunately the cat) as well as snuggle on the couch.  Mac will be Shea's dog (he is 7 months old) but for now he belongs to us all.  This afternoon, he had his first formal haircut.  What a proud moment.  He came home looking like a new little fella!  Who knew there was such soft hair underneath all the tangles!  Mac has been good for our health because we have all taken turns going for walks in the neighbourhood (poop bag in hand).   Sophie gets a good workout chasing Mac in the evening.  (He is now resting after a good "Sophie workout").

Getting a dog is a huge commitment.  It means having a plan for when everyone is at work, having a plan for when you go on holidays and having a plan for when the puppy needs medical intervention.  Brock (who grew up with dogs of all sizes)  posted a top 10 commandments of being a dog owner on the fridge.  I am adding it to this Blog, because I really like it.  (I didn't write it, I am just adding it here).

1. My life is likely to last 10 to 15 years. Any  separation from you will be painful remember
that before you get me.
2. Give me time to understand what you want of me.
3. Place your trust in me- it is crucial to my well being.
4. Do not be angry at me for long, and do not lock me up as punishment.
5. You have your work, your entertainment,and your friends.  I only have you.
6. Talk to me sometimes. Even if I don't understands your words, I understand your voice when it is speaking to me.
7. Be aware that how ever you treat me, I will never forget.
8. Remember before you hit me that I have teeth that could easily hurt you, but I choose not to bite you because I  love you.
9. Before you scold me for being uncooperative,obstinate,or lazy, ask yourself if something might be bothering me. Perhaps I  might not be getting the right food, or I have been out to  long, or my heart is getting to old and weak.
10. Take care of me when I get old; you too will grow old. Go with me on difficult journeys. Never say: "I cannot bear to watch" or "Let it happen in my absence." Everything is easier for me if you are there, even my death. Remember that I love you.

So, welcome to our family Mac.  We look forward to many years of joy because you are in our lives!
And this week, that's what makes me smile!

Today: That's what makes me - 1

Hearing my kids voices coming from the kitchen
Gabi humming in the shower
Sophie being tickled and the pure joy in her laughter
Brock and Trent talking about the end of hockey season and the start of baseball season
A handwritten letter in the mail from a new friend
Recalling Malik's amazing story of Hope, at Tedx Fort McMurray
Fresh linen on my bed
A 4 day work week
A new episode of the Big Bang Theory
Nana and Sophie walking in puddles
Starting my first "Blog"....

....And today, that's what makes me Smile!