Like Youth, Education is Wasted on the Young

You would think that since school has been out for a week now I would have the time to write, truth is I didn’t want to have anything to do with a computer after the hellish semester that I just got over.

They say that you are never too old to learn and school provides endless opportunities regardless of age.  Well let me tell you, as much as ‘they’ are right about the opportunities post-secondary provides, ‘they’ probably don’t know shit about going back to school as a mature student.  I have been in college now for 4.5 years and still have another year and a half to go before I finally graduate.  I applied to the Early Childhood Education program at my local college and was there for two years; the idea was finish with the diploma and bridge to the degree program and head to Teacher’s College and teach in the school system.  Having raised a child on my own I knew that the baby thing was cute but I wasn’t about to change diapers for the rest of my life and deal with brand new “only organic this” and “natural that for my baby” parents (my daughter ate what the local grocery store shelves had stocked didn’t have a stroller the size of a small car and she turned out just fine).  I wanted to teach older kids how to do math and read, not how to get to the toilet on time and chew food and not their ‘friend’s’ arm.  This was going well until shit started to hit the fan in my third semester.

I had a 4.0 GPA in my first semester and I was breezing through the diploma; daycare placements were nothing short of annoying but I did them well, and assignments were so easy that I practically did them in my sleep.  I started applying for universities and jobs for the upcoming summer; then this little 3 year old temper tantruming brat happened.  Six weeks into third semester I was in the preschool room at my placement when I pulled my back on a child who decided to have a temper tantrum in the middle of my picking her up to check her pull up.  I was in agony and had to be pulled out of placement and some of my marks had to be put on hold until I had the go ahead from my doctor.  Fourth semester started and arrangements were made to pick up where I left off in May when fourth semester was officially over.  This was all fine and dandy, until of course fourth semester happened.  One of my professors decided that one of my final assignments was less than adequate and failed me by three percent.  I appealed with the notion that I have proved myself worthy with all of my other classes and the fact that I had a 3.8 GPA at the time, topped off with the fact that I was injured during my placement yet continued to push through regardless of the pain that I was in.  This was all to no avail, bottom line – professor was a bitch and I made sure she knew that straight from the gift horse’s mouth.

Things started to fall apart shortly before that in other aspects; my relationship with Mitch was shaky but I held on, the job that I had lined up for the summer (camp counselor at a summer camp) fell through due to the lack of registrations and the universities never received my transcripts (that I sent out in November!!).  By the time that I realized the transcript situation I was on the waitlist for universities and then due to the 3% deficit, I was out of contention for the ECE degree.

After that summer (and the break up with Mitch) I knew that I was not content with my lack of post secondary education, so I decided to take another whack at it and applied to the Special Event program at a more accredited college in the downtown core.  Having a background in the event and hospitality industry I knew that I was going to be happier planning events than wiping the snotty noses of bratty children.  Again I excelled at school and graduated with honours from the Special Event Planning last April.  During the time working on my diploma I came to learn that the school offered a degree program, it was a Bachelor of Applied Business in Hospitality Operations Management, I would bridge directly into the third year.  I researched it, thought about it and the fact that this would keep me in the classroom for another two years (bringing the count to six years in total); so I registered and was accepted, duh.

Throughout my diploma years I struggled with balancing part time work and full time school, throw in a daughter and a hint of a social life and it’s enough to drive anyone a little bonkers.  The group work was manageable and my group members were fantastic for the most part (especially the ones I got to choose).  I am currently in my third year of the degree program and I must admit it is more bittersweet than anything.  The premise behind the degree is that it will open more doors in my career and offer more insight to the way things are currently in the industry.  This is a great sales pitch, however when you take into account the professors who have been in the classroom for the last 10 years you begin to question just how current the information that they are passing on is in fact current to the industry.  One of my professors (who also plays the role of program coordinator) was constantly mentioning in her lectures the “way things are in the industry” and “the current policies and procedures in industry” and the “things you need to know working in the industry today” blah blah yadda yadda, clueless!  She is not the only one, I had another professor who would ramble on about concepts he didn’t even know about.  He would read off of the textbook’s slides and try to talk over the students that had no respect for him, or themselves (student behaviour will be an entirely different blog in itself).  Another professor rambles on so much that she took two weeks to cover each set of 45 slides, if you ask me she just enjoys the sound of her own voice.  Where does the college get these people?!

The professors go off on tangents constantly about the high quality of students that are allowed into the program, the crème de la crème; again another great sales pitch, but being in classes with these students are proving that most of them are nothing but rejects from the closest trailer park.  Some of the inferences that I have made about the crème de la crap idiots that surround me on a daily basis are the following:
- They are there on daddy’s dime or are suckling at the teat of the government
- They are more focused on creating friendships with other pathetic low lives who will surely drag them down in life as opposed to assisting them in career advancement
- Drinking and sex are more important than studying and report writing – this is after reading reports written during the Sunday afternoon hangover or by their 10 year old sibling (either way their mental development is comparable to a retarded chimpanzee)

The frustration is endless when it comes to being in the same room as these daft individuals; it is one thing to impede your own growth and education but another when you get in the way of others who pay money out of their own pockets and spend priceless time away from their families in order to improve their quality of life.

The following is a message to my fellow students:

“You’re a bunch of dumbasses!”

12 Years in the Waiting... and I am finally getting off of this rock!

"You can use your money for something else."
"Why do you want to spend your money on a vacation?"
"You don't need a vacation."
"Wait until you're done school, then go away"
"You don't have their life, you can't just pick up and go on vacation."

These are quotes that came from, you guessed it, my mother.  I swear to you she is a wonderful woman, but she always manages to get under my skin, discourages me from making my own decisions and even manipulates me into thinking like her.  Not all of this is bad, thinking like my mother has its good points; such as her savvy financial sense, and cooking skills to name a couple.  However these blessings have also been my curses; because when it comes to buying things that is when the discouraging hat finds its way to her head and I end up having buyers remorse BEFORE I buy.  Some people would consider my lifestyle cheap or frugal, others wonder why I work as hard as I do and not spend some of it on things that I want.  I only get my hair done once, maybe twice a year, I wear cheap clothing until the stitches come apart, and the two bras I own have lasted me about a year now.  I had the same bathing suit for five years before buying a new one this past summer.  I live as though these items are made to last, like buying a car, you hope when you buy it it'll last you at least until you're done paying for it.

So due to the wonderful words of wisdom from my mother, I have put vacations on the back burner for the last decade.  I have watched all of my friends travel the world and come back with everything from tans to accents, and new love interests to new body images (tattoos).  I have lived vicariously through them all... Until now!  Yesterday I booked a trip to Europe!  I leave in a couple of weeks and I am thrilled!!  I am nervous tho, I am leaving my mother a week after her surgery (non-invasive day surgery, but surgery non-the-less), and my daughter behind for two weeks.  Not that my daughter needs a vacation, she goes to camps practically every other weekend and I spent a small fortune on her this past summer sending her away for two weeks herself.  I am not a huge fan of flying, probably because I don't do it often enough o get used to the feeling.  I am looking forward to the trip nonetheless.  My cousin and now travel partner Mel is uber excited about my decision to join her over there; we're leaving on the same flight so hopefully she'll be able to relax my nerves a bit mid-air. One of my goals while away is to live a little, my cousin is 9 years younger than me (but in grandma years it's more like 39).  I hope that I can learn to be more carefree and relaxed in my day to day and relax and treat myself more; the European way of life - vino everyday type of idea.

I went to my doctor last week as I was having severe back pain and I wasn't able to function at my potential at all.  Last winter I had the same issue and x-rays found something of a benign cyst or tumour on my spine in the lower lumbar, this was never taken care of.  This time the doctor told me that he didn't want to x-ray me again, but that my back and spine were fine and that I should be better if I took up yoga.  YOGA!!  Seriously??  I can't bend over to put my shoes on in the morning and the guy wants me to get into downward dog and twist like a pretzel?  I think he needs to reexamine his calling in life or learn to listen to his patients before I go all warrior pose on his ass.  I am hoping that my old lady body doesn't hold me back from enjoying the trip and keeping Mel from having a good time; the last thing I want is to be the boring travel partner.

I went to the museum with Eric today and he was telling me about domesticated animals that end up in the wild or 'feral.'  This was an interesting concept that I had never really thought about until today when I applied it to myself in reverse.  I am not saying that I am a wild child or anything, but people do become a product of their peers or of their habitat.  I told Eric that when I was on my own I had a bit more of a social life than what I did living at home with my parents.  Even though I was only on my own for a year, I still went out, made my own decisions and lived like an adult woman.  When I moved back home with my parents I became a 'child' again, docile, not only to their rules, but to the way they live their lives.  I became a product of my peers, a camelion in their home; I became my parents.

I am not sure what I am going to do about this, aside from recognize it and move on.  I became single because I was tired of being a great half to a shitty whole and I went from independent woman to dependent daughter.  I appreciate all that my parents do for me, I really do, but the one thing that I wish they would not do is continue to direct my life.  Being a parent myself I know that ensuring your children are on the right path is important to living a happy and healthy life; but my parents have nothing on me.  I don't smoke, do drugs, drink excessively, behave irresponsibly or do anything that would tarnish the family's image.  My only vice is tea and crochet - and believe me you can't go very far with those.  I just realized something, are the airport security people going to take away my crochet needle on the plane?  Guess I'll have to take the e-reader instead.  Hmmm, I digress.

I guess what I am trying to say is that there is a point in people's lives when the umbilical cord needs to be cut and that people need to live their own lives.  My parents are helping me financially through school, etc, but (correct me if I am wrong) does that give them the right to dictate where I go on a Friday night or what I eat or whether or not I want to spend my own hard earned money (after giving them money for bills) on something that I will enjoy and make me feel good?  After all I am 32 years old!

I am a Smart and Confident Single Woman... That is what the Self Help Book Told Me

As title says I am a single woman; the rest can be up for discussion on a day that I feel upbeat and happy about where my life is going.

I made the decision to be single last summer (2010) when I broke up with my last boyfriend, Mitch.  But before I get to Mitch I would love to let you all in on the dating disaster that has been my life for ... well... my adult life.  (I will start after my daughter's sperm donor as I feel that he is not worth the letters nor the time that it takes to type a paragraph to describe the hell I went through with him.)

This takes us to 1999 when I met Roy.  I worked at the local mall along with a friend of mine who introduced me to Roy, who also happened to work at this mall.  We spoke for a while, started dating, and were in a relationship for two years.  It had it's up and downs; he was great with my daughter, but unfortunately he spent more time with his computer than with me.  He got along fantastic with my parents, but he took me to Harvey's for Valentines Day.  Needless to say we weren't meant to be; however, today he is a father to a young girl himself and is still a great friend.

After him Eric came along in 2001.  We met on ICQ (the old MSN, before BBM came along) and the first time I met him face to face he was at my place of employment ordering an ice cream using a bad English accent.  We dated for a year before he finally got his act together and started in a more serious relationship (shit or get off the pot, right?)  That was where the patterns began - sisters, parents and battles.  Eric was (correct that), IS a bit of a momma's boy.  There were times during our relationship that we would fight over whether he was bringing me home for Christmas or any other family event that was held at his parents' home.  His sister was another force to be reckoned with, Princess Leia as I like to call her (which worked out well since Eric has this fascination with all things Star Wars).  The second Christmas that rolled around in our relationship was the toughest, his mother had told him that my daughter and I were not welcome in her home with her family; she was afraid that my daughter (who was 5 at the time) would embarrass her in front of their extended family during dinner.  She always thought that Eric deserved better than a single mother, but we were great together in those days, so we shrugged off what she thought.  That Christmas my family became offended that I was being pushed aside and decided to push against Eric themselves.  At that point he was not really welcome in the home anymore and my parents weren't pleased at the fact that I packed my daughter into the car and drove an hour and a half (each way) to go and see him on Boxing Day.  When I got there I was not welcome in their home; they considered me mischievous and guessed that I was there to cause problems, I just wanted to see my boyfriend on Christmas. May of 2003 rolled around and after I had a HUGE blow out with his sister about another event that I was not welcome at, Eric and I couldn't take the pressures of the families and we parted ways romantically.  I literally didn't sleep for 3 days I was crushed that I had been judged by what I was (a single mom) and not by who I was (a woman who loved and cared for their son).  Eric and I are still fantastic friends to this day, he is my new swimming buddy :)

Prepare yourself for Marshall.  Marshall came along in the winter of 2004, cute, smart, older, geek - totally my type.  We dated, we traveled, we went to concerts, we picked out houses, furniture, cars and played games that required betting on all accounts (we both had a bit of a fun, moneyless gambling problem going on).  We were together for a solid 4 years before things started to unravel; but when they did, it was a shit avalanche.  It started with his niece, she was the same age as my daughter and they got along well in short bursts of time; but the minute things started to get out of hand sides were taken and we were in the doghouse.  My daughter started to resent his niece and family functions (again) were not that much fun.  He started to do things alone with his mother and sister (who in my opinion was the biggest hypocrite I ever met) and I then started to resent her.  We were playing house, as he wasn't ready for me to move in yet (after 5 YEARS!); but I later found out it was because of his sister and her talking him out of it.  She also mentioned pre-nups and a slew of other things that never got a ring on my finger.  We broke up and got back together a hand full of times; it was at a point that we were never going to let each other move on to better and happier lives away from one another.  The last break up with had was the permanent one...

It took place in the summer of 2008, we were supposed to go to the cottage for two weeks.  His family was coming (hooray) and he alluded to an engagement.  I was super excited and couldn't wait - but I was made to.  Turned out that his mother and sister only wanted me up there for the second week, I was heartbroken.  Another mother and sister feud with me as the imposter.  The weeks went on and I was finally "allowed" to go to the cottage, from the minute I got there I was ignored.  Games were played without me and my daughter, a birthday party for his niece was given (my daughter's birthday was the week before and no one mentioned, "hey we are doing this, did you want to involve your daughter too"), movies were enjoyed without invitations for accompaniment.  It was awful and all came to a head on the Tuesday night, 3 days into my time there.  I FLIPPED OUT.  I told his sister what I had thought of her for the last 4 years, told his mother that she was a bitch and had done a great job in raising two selfish snobbish children and that if her husband were still alive he'd probably wish that he was dead from the way that they were treating me over the time that we was there.  Truth hurts right??  They all deserved the verbal ass kicking.  I left the next day at 6am before anyone woke up.  I wanted to leave that minute but Marshall didn't let me leave the cottage that night for fear that I would hit a moose or something on my way home.

This brings me to the last lucky fellow I had in my life.  In the fall of 2009 I met Mitch; we worked together at the entertainment complex and hit it off really well.  We started dating around Christmas time, he was fantastic, sweet, cute and geeky - my type.  The best part about him was his family; the in-laws fantasies are made of.  They were the best!  One problem though, Mitch needed a little more independence training - not long after we started dating did he become the puppy I never wanted.  We broke up after a cottage fiasco (damn cottages!), it was a nightmare.  A super long weekend that was meant for 4 people ended up being a circus of 11!  It was a push-pull on his sister (notice the pattern yet?) wanting to come up and spend time with the family and us not wanting to have everyone up, just us and our friends ... Long (and traumatizing) story short. I dumped him.  We spent months apart without speaking and ended up rekindling a romance a year later.  It was great in the beginning, he had friends that he went out with regularly and his own place and a great new job... But when we started dating he became that puppy again that followed me around like a shadow.  We spoke of moving in together, we had a place set out and everything... I couldn't do it.  I told him that something felt wrong and that I wasn't happy with him.  I told him that if I lived with him I would end up killing him.  I broke it off again and never looked back.

It has been a year and a half now of being single, and after reading all of that can you blame me?  Obviously those stories were cut extremely short, and there were a couple more short term relationships that I left out (also involving wicked mothers and sisters, I seem to date the Cinderella of men); my dating life is a book in itself, a dating 'how-don't' if you would.  Don't get me wrong, I miss having someone to cuddle with and go to events with - finding a date for my best friends wedding last spring was a nightmare! But for the most part I enjoy the single life.  I enjoy my occasional nights out with friends (guys or girls) and I don't feel guilty for spending time with anyone.

Being single has taught me about me, what I like and want I don't like, I have not conformed to anyone else's likes or dislikes.  I have not settled for anything less than what I feel I deserve.  I don't deal with people's bullshit on whether they think I should be a certain way, act a certain way or speak a certain way.  I am who I am and I am okay with that.  I am the one who has to live with me and my choices and their consequences; I depend on no one and rely on no one.  I work hard to pay my way and I ensure that my daughter never goes without.  I work to give her the opportunities that I didn't have growing up.  The sacrifices that have been made for her have been mine, and no one can dare say that I put myself before her.  Being a single mom is tough; and if asked, no I probably wouldn't do it again.  But I am the person I am today because of the paths that I have been down, the roads that I have taken and the trails that I have blazed.  If I am to be nothing else in this world, at least I can say "I am me".

"You Win Some, You Lose Some... Always by Your Own Tongue"

This is one of my mother's favourite sayings, and I will admit, it holds a lot of merit.  This society has such a 'dog eat dog' mentality that the moment you show vulnerability in truth telling, you're dog meat!  Being honest is something that I have always tried to practice at home, at school and at work.  Unfortunately being honest has more of a negative effect than a positive one.  Think about it, you find $20 on the floor and give people around you opportunity to claim it, if someone does you're out $20, if you kept your mouth shut you'd be up $20.  People in today take advantage of each other more so than they did in the past (in my opinion, I don't know for sure as I haven't been around that long), but if chivalry is dead than I think it is safe to assume that kindness is as rare as a good tipper at HOEs.

I will admit that the generation that I grew up in was pretty messed up (rude, uncouth and irritating), but the generation that is right behind me (kids in their 20's) are horrible.  Walking through the halls of my school is like walking through the set of an episode of Jersey Shore, what a joke!  Kids don't know how to pull up their pants, are they not aware of what belts are these days?  Do they not have any fashion sense?  Don't bother to tell me that this is "cool", because I would put you in the same category as those plaid Fruit of the Loom idiots.  One day, as I so enjoy being honest, I told a kid walking in front of me, "you know, if you pulled up your pants you'd be able to walk faster and I could get to my class without being offended by the sight of your ass."  I know I should've been a poet; the kid looked at me, did a side shuffle and moved out of my way; I rolled my eyes and continued walking.  The same day I had a young guy walking in front of me, he opened the door and walked through, I had to grab the door to avoid getting my already aching body hit by it; then again (double door entrance); I piped up again, (I was on a roll on that day) "Hey!  Welcome to *insert school's name here*, we hold doors open for people around here."  The kid looks at me, do these people realize that they aren't alone on this planet?

The ignorance that floods the streets of this city is unreal, the fact that people are plugged into something (be it an iPod, cell phone, BlueTooth, anything) that allows them to be transported to another world during their travels is mind boggling.  They are literally clueless as to what is going on around them and careless of the people that surround them.  I know that I am only 32, but what if I was 60 or 70 or in a wheelchair?  Would that make a difference?  Good idea for a social experiment... maybe I'll think about that and see if I could get my hand on a wheelchair for a day and try to get around the city.  Again I digress.

Today was an annoying day at work, I am pretty sure it was backlash from the honesty that I gave my boss at HOEs a couple of weeks ago, and they say men don't hold grudges... bah!  I told my manager (the GM) that he underestimated me and my capabilities as a server.  I have been at that location for 2 years and he for 2 months.  When he told me that he's been in the 'business' longer, I told him to remember that he was younger than me and should watch his tone (I know I have the nerve), this was then followed by a "I'm the General Manager" guffaw and I told him that he should unpack his bags from his power trip.  There is a reason why we don't have a name on the door under the "General Manager" decal, they are never around long enough to allow the glue to dry.  The restaurant would save a lot of money on business cards if they just had those fill in the General Manager lines or maybe the ever famous "Hi My Name is... General Manager for the month" name badges. So due to this little dialogue, he decided to give me only 2 lunch shifts this week and cut me after 2 hours, what a wanker!  I'm just killing time until the new guy shows up, we don't know when but its inevitable, they never last that long at HOEs.

They didn't lie when they said the truth hurts, everyone hurts when they're told the truth about what people think of them or about what is wrong in a situation or about how their dog died; but what needs to be remembered is that the truth is something that eventually will come out.  Why hide it, whether I am going to get you out of your hiding spot or someone else, the truth will come out.  I think where people get all huffy puffy about the truth remains in the position in which people see themselves in society; a boss telling an employee that they are not performing well is considered socially acceptable, but the minute an employee tells a manager that they are doing a lousy job at managing they are 'crossing the line' and will most likely be fired.  This was a democratic country the last time I checked and we also have this wonderful human right called the freedom of speech.

WOW!!  I feel all liberated now, I have never used the "I have rights" card.  I think I'm going to go and burn my bras now.

Nite y'all

Aah, the Joys of Monologue Therapy

You may be wondering why I started blogging in the first place, and if you're not wondering we I'm going to tell you anyways...

A few weeks back while being out on one of my outings to the mall I was perusing the book store, surprisingly I passed the cooking and crafts section and a book by the title Waiter Rant caught my eye.  They say to never judge a book by it's cover, but who ever listen to 'them' anyways?  I purchased the book and started reading; as you can imagine my social life being what it is I had a lot of time on my hands in the evenings and completed the book in about 4 of them.  The last chapter is what struck me the most, it was entitled, Throwing in the Apron.  For those who have been following my blog you already know that I work in a restaurant that I call HOES Place; unless I like the manager on duty and the colleagues that I am working with that day, the odds are that I don't want to be there.  My general manager has been known to be Generally Missing and the way that they have done hiring in the past is to take a pulse, if you have one, you're hired!

I have been there for the last two years and have seen five general managers.  Staff there knows that once a manager is brought into my location they are on their way out of the company - much like the NHL sending players to the Toronto Maple Leafs when they are contemplating retirement.  Staff also has a mischievous way of messing around with the management when they don't like them... hhmm, corporate audit time seems like a great time to start making mistakes. *wink wink*  The place is like a cockroach, no matter how many ways it's head gets chopped off the damn thing still won't die!

Anyways, I digress.  Back to the last chapter of Waiter Rant; it made me realize the importance of realizing one's potential and that being a server has a way of killing the ego.  Think about it, servers work for less than minimum wage, so approximately $9/hr with the expectations that they are receiving tips, in a normal dine in restaurant that does not lure you in with it's golden arches this is typically the case.  Servers working in fine dining restaurants can make more than the average Joe working a Monday-Friday 9-5 job; however, at HOEs this is not the case at all.  Tap water is the drink of choice (sometimes referred to as my town's Champagne) and trying to up sell a pint of beer or a glass of wine is like trying to sell a Ferrari to someone on social assistance.  Upon receiving the bill they look around trying to find a reason to complain about something in order for a manager to decrease the amount and then leave the discounted amount as the tip.  In other words, my 'worth' is then dwindled down to approximately $3.60 per table, if I'm lucky.  There was one Friday night a few weeks back that I had four tables and made $8!  Why are these people allowed to leave their homes?!  In all seriousness though, I do hope to one day leave HOEs (sooner rather than later) and move on to bigger and better things; no not more afghans, unless I make a business out of selling them, hhhmmmm...

Last night after my swimming expedition, my friend Eric mentioned that he finds my writing therapeutic.  I admitted to him that I find my blogging to be extremely calming.  I used to do the old version of old lady griping about my day to my family and friends; it would be a rant of about a half an hour and I still felt the need to go and break something.  The blog has become my "goosefraba" and I look forward to getting home from a long day or going about my grandma business, putting my pajamas on, making a mug of tea and releasing all of my day's frustrations into my keyboard.

Well that is it for today, the computer has been on since 9am this morning and I feel the effects of my Advil wearing off.  Time for a large cup of tea and some reading in my rocking chair.

Good night y'all

My Body Hurts...

What they say is true, "you are as old as you feel" and today I feel really old.

I have been out of the physical activity circle for a while now due to the numerous aches and pains that have been bestowed upon me by my ancestors.  I don't run because I have bad ankles and tend to always find a way of twisting them four steps into a slow jog.  Not to mention that my blood pressure likes to hover at 80/60 (normal is 100/80), so the minute I stand up I get sever head rushes as if my heart doesn't know why I am putting it through such anguish.  I walk often but after a while my right knee starts to ache; this too depends on the humidity.  And to top it all off sit ups and crunches hurt my back, A LOT!  This ache has a bit of a history...

I have never had a really good back to begin with and since I decided to go back to school a few years back my part time jobs have been physically taxing, to say the very least.  I had a job for 3 years that had me going up and down stairs (in a stadium environment - tour de stad) for 3 hours a shift with a tray of beer, hot dogs, sushi, you name it.  Apparently, that is not a great job when you have cheap shoes purchased from my favourite discount department store.  Nonetheless, being the trooper that I am, I endured it like a champ, until the fateful day of January 30, 2010.  Who would have thought that rolling over on the couch would be so excruciating?  Literally, rolling over on the couch sent shooting pains up my back and neck that I wasn't able to do anything but cry tears like I've never cried before.  My mother called my cousin, who doubles as my massage therapist, and my father rushed me over to see her; I was still wearing my pajamas (don't knock Winnie the Pooh).  Upon my arrival she took one look at me and said, "you're not done crying yet, follow me."  Oooohhh the pain!!  Apparently my rolling over caused my hip and my shoulder to pop out of place; and she was right, during my readjustments I let out cries that I'm sure had the neighbours around the corner peeking out of their gated basement windows.  I had x-rays done that same week and was told that I had a benign tumour in my spine in the lower lumbar region.  Great! Awesome! Fantastic!

This week I had been toying with the idea of getting back into shape and hoping that perhaps some healthy activity would assist in the rebuilding of the core muscles and make me feel better; so today I decided to go swimming!  Easy right?  For most people this is a great low impact workout; get in the water, splash around a little, do some laps, have a shower go home and get a great nights sleep.  Well lets just say that this was not quite the reality of my situation.  It started off well, packed my bag, got my swimsuit out (that I bought this past summer and only used twice), towel, shampoo (why not use their water, right?), change of clothes (or in my case my pjs) and away I went.  I got changed, hoped in the pool and started doing my laps.  About 6 laps in I found that my neck was hurting and my left shoulder was getting sore.  I met up with my friend Eric at the pool and he mentioned that I have a funny way of swimming; he compared me to a giraffe in the water.  His analogies always get me going; he said that when I swim I hold my head up instead of turning it sideways along the length of my body as I stroke through the water.  I told him that my shoulder was sore too and he asked if I had stretched before I started swimming.  I looked at him with my 'giraffe' eyes and he started laughing, "you need to stretch before you start swimming genius" he quips.  I slapped him with my pool noodle and commented on the fact that his Movember stache makes him look like a porn star from the 70's.

When we got kicked out of the pool I went to the showers, pulled out my shampoo and went to raise my arms in order to start lathering.  That too did not work out like I had originally hoped;  my shoulder was so sore that I was wincing with every move.  What on earth was I thinking, I haven't swam laps in years and all of a sudden I think that I'm training for the summer Olympics.

My cousin / massage therapist has told me on many occasions that my father is in better physical shape that me and that my mother's spine (after having a botched back surgery in 1997) is healthier than mine.  My parents are 64 and 70 - I've had better news.

I wonder if they let 32 year olds into retirement homes.

My Hobbies... It's All My Mom's Fault

During therapy many people often blame their parents for all their screw ups in life.  I was guilty of this during my years in therapy (that they were blamed for me being there in the first place too). but today I want to blame my mother.  I love my mother dearly and she is a hero in my eyes.  She raised my brother and I whilst working outside of the home; none of this "stay-at-home mom" BS.  She worked full time (and so did my father) would come home, cook fresh meals daily (because God forbid my father eat leftovers, *gasp*), clean the house (it's like living in a museum, although we are still waiting for the Pope to come over so we can eat in the fancy dining room), do laundry, and all the other chores that a mother has.  She could never really help me with my science homework, but never missed a Christmas concert or a school play and always made time to take me swimming at the local pool.  She's fantastic!  Why blame her then, you may ask?  Well, when I was about 12 years old she decided that it was time for me to stop dragging her around to the pools (I think she was getting bored watching me splash around) and she started noticing that I started having friends come over (another *gasp*).  Her way of keeping me entertained (sans annoying preteen friends) was to teach me how to crochet.

At 12 I was making little crochet doily hats that we would starch, decorate and hang on EVERY door handle in the house.  I was in doily hell, but my mother was in heaven as she had just taught her daughter how to do something that she could now relate to - no doubt a proud moment in her life.  Unfortunately for me and my youth, I enjoyed this hobby and continued crocheting.  I have given up the doilies and have moved on to bigger and better things - afghans that take 10 times longer to complete and are loved by every member of the extended family!  Funny how aunts put in their orders for Christmas in the spring and expect me to drop every moment of my spare time and social engagem... ok, I know, I don't have any qualms about giving up my social life to hang out with my needle and yarn, but they don't need to know that!  I quickly filled my book shelves with crochet books and new patterns for colourful afghans and scarves.  She freaked out about how much money I was spending on this hobby and was always giving me grief.  So I put my crochet needle down occasionally these days to appease her, but I still say "Mom, it's all YOUR fault!"

Later into my 20s my mother decided that I needed a new hobby, the afghans were starting to pile up in the linen closet and there was already one draped over every bed and couch in the house.  She decided that every woman should know how to cook.  Here we go!  Unfortunately for me (and my already rapidly decreasing social life) I accepted this new hobby with open arms and a new empty book shelf that I had no trouble filling 20 wide and 2 deep with books.  She would freak out on me every time I bought a new cook book or subscribed to a new cooking magazine.  "Stop spending your money on these books, you have enough!" she says to me.  Everyone knows that when you start a new hobby you have to have all the latest and greatest, so I paused my book fetish and started buying equipment - waffle maker, mixers, spatulas, bowls, muffin tins, cake pans, the list goes on.  The television was permanently set to the Food Network and it was Chef at Home, French Food at Home, Anna Olsen's Fresh and Rachel Ray morning, noon and night; cue cards and pens would come out and recipes cards were now the trend.  Our kitchen is FILLED with rubbermaid containers filled to the brim with recipes from magazines, television shows and the occasional Martha Stewart cookie book I would sneak home.  I can tell she loves the fact that she shares a kitchen with me, especially when I come home with cookie and cake orders at Christmas time - her qualm then is, "this is costing me electricity!"  My response to her is, "Mom, it's all your FAULT!!"


**Today's blog is dedicated to my mother... 
Even though you will never learn how to turn on a computer let alone find and read my blog, know that I love you and appreciate everything that you have done for me and have taught me.  I am the woman that I am because of you.  xoxo