A Visit From Murphy...and Santa Claus

Murphy's Law

 Loosely translated and borrowing heavily from Finagle's Law

means:

"Anything that can go wrong, will."

It's been a wild ride at ye old Bellymonster homestead. To long-story-short things, that dang Murphy  popped by for a visit, leaving an expensive mess in his wake.

It started with the furnace:

Furnace guy came. Shook head, sadly, eyeing our 42-year-old furnace. Whistled - in bad way - when he saw our chimney. Turned his palm up in an apologetic way and said he reckoned it'd be cheaper to simply start anew.

Sigh.

 I cringed, waiting for  the estimate to replace the furnace. Winced when it came. Mark did more than wince. In fact, I'm fairly certain I saw him wipe a tear from his suddenly alarmingly pale face:

We discussed things all weekend long, trying to figure out where we can cut back to see our way around financing a new furnace. On Monday, Mark called from work:

Sigh.

Yep. The WHEEL FELL OFF THE CAR! Thankfully, it happened as Mark turned into the driveway at work and not whilst he was sailing up the 401, but still. We were hoping to get one more winter out of the ol' girl. Alas...



Later that week, I received a second furnace quote - from a man who looked like Santa Claus (without the beard) and who immediately offered to bring some electric heaters by while we made up our minds.

That pretty much made up our minds, so I arranged to have an environmental audit done so that we could take advantage of government rebates, set to end in early 2012.

Spent the rest of the week bemoaning our crummy luck and waiting for the sky to fall.

Gah. Argh. Blah, indeed.

Murphy, in case you didn't know, also likes to sprinkle mischief in threes:

F*cked-up furnace? Check.

Crapped-out car? Check.

I waited. I fretted. I tweeted:

I prayed. But alas...

That Friday, the computer gave one last pitiful chug, a few coughs, a wheeze..


and died.

When Mark came home from work, looking exhausted and stressed out, I greeted him with a smile. But it was enough. He knew. Oh, he knew:


Me: "So, Murphy stopped by earlier."
Mark: "Computer?"
Me: "Yep."
Mark: "Fuck."
Me: "Yep."
Mark: "I need a drink."
Me: "Rye and coke?"
Mark: "Do we have any arsenic?"

Thankfully, we have an awesome friend who provided us with a new-to-us computer and amazingly  generous family, who've  loaned us a car, indefinitely.

On Tuesday, I called Santa Claus (aka. Brian from Rosebush Heating and Cooling) and gave the go-ahead for a new furnace. He cautioned that it might be a few days, as it's a busy time.

 20 minutes later, he rang back:

"My guys'll  be over in about 20 minutes."
Me: Uh, OK. I thought you said it might be a few days?
Santa: I did. I pulled them off another job. I hate the idea of your little boys having to face even one more day of cold.
Me: Wow. Thank you!
Santa: You take care of those boys, Mrs. They're precious.
Me: They are. I will. Thank you.

30 minutes later, I posted this on Facebook:

I called Mark at work:

"The furnace people just showed up!"
"Seriously? I thought he said..."
"He did! But he hated the thought of the Reds being cold and sent his crew here straight away."
"Wow."
"That's what I said!"
"I guess Santa Claus came to town early, eh?"


Indeed.

*And you? Got any Murphy's Law fiascos to share? Who's YOUR Santa Claus?*

On Jelly Beans and Other Things...

Monday, after school, having a grape-eating contest - who can make the loudest crunch:

I tossed out a casual, "So Matthew, how was your day?"

Mid-crunch, my boy stopped and then looked away.

"I was the only one who used my accent," he offered, a little flush of pride lighting his face before his gaze dropped back down.

"Awesome! Do you mean your accent when you're speaking French?"

"Yeah."

"Umm...you don't seem happy about that, Bug. It's a good thing, right?"

"Well, yeah. I was the only one who was listening but Madame M. didn't give me a jelly bean."

"Do you get a jelly bean for using your accent, then?" I watched as his expression soured further, all thought of grape-crunching forgotten. In a low voice, he answered:

"No, we get jelly beans for listening, but Madame M. didn't give me one."

"Ah. I see. Do you think maybe she just forgot?"

A vehement head shake, tears glistening. "No. She never forgets. She just didn't want to give me one."

Mama Bear rose up inside me, roaring even as I struggled to tamp her down. Calm down, Mama.

I took a deep breath, reached out to take his hand. "That must have hurt your feelings, eh?"

Matthew nodded.

"Maybe she doesn't like me." Though he offered it as an observation, I could hear the question in his voice, wrapped as it was in resignation and defeat.

It broke my heart.

"I'm sure you're wrong, sweetheart. I can't imagine that she doesn't like you. I'm sure she just forgot."

Shrugs from Matthew. Helpless gazing from me.

And then...a memory.

"Let me tell you a story, Matthew. When I was in Kindergarten, I had a teacher called Mrs. Major. Every morning, she filled a plastic egg with jelly bean treats and hid it somewhere in the classroom. Each student was given a chance to search for the egg and eat those jelly bean treats throughout the day."

"Cool."

"It was. But I never got chosen. One day, I asked Mrs. Major when it would be my turn. But she thought I'd had a turn and put me in time-out for telling a fib."

"Really?!?" Matthew's eyes were wide with surprise and indignation. This sort of thing sets his Libra heart aflame. Thirty-five years later, seeing indignation flare in my son's eyes soothed the ache of that memory, long-buried but clearly, not forgotten.

I nodded.

"Really. I was very sad. I wasn't fibbing, she'd just forgotten. But it hurt my feelings."

We sat quietly, letting those hurt feelings - his and mine - settle around us. And then Matthew brightened.

"Mummy! I have an idea! We can get a plastic egg and fill it with jelly beans. Luke and I can take turns hiding it and then you can have your turn finding it! Would that be OK?"



Oh, my son. My sensitive, tender-hearted son. What did I ever do to deserve you?

Out loud I said, " What a wonderful idea, Matthew!  Thank you. We'll get some jelly beans at the weekend and whenever you use your accent with me, you'll get a jelly bean, too, OK?"

"Sounds like a plan, Mummy." His own hurt feelings forgotten, Matthew leaped from the couch and began scouting for good hiding spots. I stayed seated a minute longer, trying to compose myself.

For want of a jelly bean, grace was found.

*And you? Who was your Mrs. M? Where have you found grace?*

Monitoring My Blessings

Tonight's post is brought to you courtesy of the baby monitor. (Yes, I still use one. Don't judge me.)

Matthew: 1, 2, 3, 4............94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99.......hmmmm.....Tenty. Tenty-One, Tenty-Two, Tenty-Three......uhhhh....ELEVENTY...Eleventy-One, Eleventy-Two.....Twelvty...Twelvty-One, Twelvety-Two...LUKE, there are Twelvety-TWO constellations on the ceiling!!!


Luke: Huh?

Matthew: There are TWELVETY-TWO stars and constellations. That's a LOT of stars. The reason you've never heard of that number is because it's so BIIIIIIGGG!


Downstairs, Mark and I sat rapt and  grinning as our firstborn counted himself sleepy. So cute, we said, puffing up with parental pride. But when he began winding himself into a number-counting frenzy, I urged Mark to go on up and settle him down - we have a big travelling day tomorrow and as entertaining as the show was, the boy needed to sleep.

Up Mark went, ushering both boys back into their respective beds, tucking them in. Matthew asked for "the Counting Game, explaining to Luke that "me and Daddy played this game when I was four, like you!"

Luke: Cool.

Mark: Two plus two equals?
Matthew: FOUR!
Mark: Four plus four equals?
Matthew: EIGHT!
Mark: Eight plus eight equals?
Matthew: SIXTEEN!
Mark: Sixteen plus sixteen equals?
Matthew: Uh.....Thirty-two?
Mark: Thirty-two. Thirty-two plus thirty-two equals...

And so it went until Mark got somewhere near 4000 at which point Matthew yelled, "Pi!!! That's my favourite part!"

Downstairs, I giggled helplessly, enchanted by the sheer pleasure in his voice and the fact that he and Daddy have a special Counting Game that I knew nothing about.

As soon as Mark left the room Matthew began the Counting Game on his own, getting stuck at 16 plus 16.

Again.

And again.

And again.

For almost 8 minutes (yes, I timed it) he counted from one - over and over and over again - struggling to get past 16, but never quite managing it. He ended up at 26, instead of 32, as he was - I imagine - counting on his fingers.

Finally, on the heels of one giant yawn, he proclaimed that 26 was indeed the right number.

Big pause.

Matthew: Yep, it's 26! 26.....yep.......26......I'll do 26 plus 26 in the morning, OK Luke? Right now, I need to get some rest. I'm a tired boy."

Bigger pause.


Silence.


Downstairs, grinning through my proud tears, I thought, "For these moments, I am so thankful."


And then sleepily, from the monitor: "I am so proud of you, Matthew." (Matthew, deepening his voice to mimic Mark's)

Matthew: "Thanks Dad, I'm proud of you, too."


Downstairs, eyes welling, grin widening, I began counting, too. Counting my blessings:

"98, 99...Tenty. Tenty-One, Tenty-Two, Tenty-Three...."

And you? Have you counted your blessings today?

Happy Thanksgiving, All!

Words to Live By...

As many of you know, I have gone back to college and am studying Developmental Service Work. The two-year program will give me the skills necessary to support people with physical and/or intellectual disabilities and to say that I am excited about the future would be an understatement.

I am delighted to be meeting new people - even the cell-phone toting young students who fill up the back three rows of every class. Their enthusiasm is contagious and while their dependency on technology baffles and irritates me, I admire their compassion and open, trusting hearts.

I am also delighted and amazed at how my perception of the world is changing - and rapidly. When the course began, several professors warned us that we would discover biases within ourselves that we'd previously ignored. I scoffed then, thinking that I was without bias towards people with disabilities.

I was wrong.

Despite my own best efforts, I too have been harbouring bias toward those whose struggle to fit in is 10 times worse than my teenaged-angst ever was. Until this program, I wasn't aware that the very WORDS I use to describe someone, or something, showed those biases.

"Lucy's autistic son," for example, puts the focus and the whole of my impression of Lucy's son firmly on autism's shoulders. Better I should say, "Lucy's son, who has autism," or better still, "Lucy's son."

Some weeks back, I learned that the word backwards comes from the phrase, "in the back wards" and describes where not-so-long-ago, psychiatric patients were hidden from view. Tucked into the very back rooms of asylums nation-wide, those doctors deemed "mentally unstable" were destined to spend their days roaming about, hurting and virtually forgotten. Caged.

I began to wonder which other words I use - daily, without reserve, without thinking - that might show a bias I hate to think I've had or worse, shown. I didn't have to wonder long before I realized that my everyday speech is peppered with jargon I'd be loathe to have my new teachers or classmates hear.



Idiot. Spaz. Dummy. Schizo. Gone mental. Loonybin. Maniac. Crazy. You're insane.  Retarded.


Are you cringing yet, dear reader? I am, just typing them out and these are only the words that *I've* used, not the dozens of others we listed in class one day, most of us sinking lower and lower in our seats as each offensive and derogatory word got called out and written down.

Wanna know what's even worse? I've said ALL of these words in FRONT OF MY CHILDREN.

It shames me that these are words and phrases that I, a lover of words and the keeper of little boy hearts, have used use.

Too often. Too forcefully. Too without thought-fully.

So, I have been making a clear and conscious effort to rid my speech of language which could  misinform, misrepresent, hurt or worse, do all three. When I am at school, it's easier to remember to stand guard against my own tongue. Easier, but not easy as I am opinionated and given to speech-before-thought already. But, day by day, everything is changing.

As I listen to the language modelled by my professors, all of whom seem called to this work, it gets easier.

As I feel old thought-patterns and deeply-held biases fall off and melt away, it gets easier.

As I learn about the nature of disabilities and how vast and wide and broad the scope is, it gets easier.

And while I happily shed the skin of the person I have been, I am learning so many, many things.

I am being taught new words and concepts like inclusion and people-centred  and support and responsibility and community.

My new language is called "People First Language" and I am wrapping my heart around all of it.

Interestingly, by challenging my brain to substitute a different, more suitable word for "retarded" I've been given a real chance to stretch, both as a writer...and as a human.

And as a mother.

Because once I'd isolated the hurtful words I use every day, I discovered even more of them.

I found that on average, I call Matthew a "Silly Turkey" 15 times a day. It's an affectionate nickname, you say? Well, yes, it is. Except when last week, I wrapped it in venom and spat it out when he fumbled a chore I'd been nagging him to complete.

And it's not just the words I choose, it's the way I offer them to my VERY impressionable young mimics children:

I chide and nag and yell things like, "Seriously? Do you seriously believe that YOU are right and I, your mother, am wrong?" (Insert incredulous tone edged with blistering sarcasm. Aim it at frustrated and weepy five-year-old)

Yes, he nodded, miserably. Yes, you are wrong, Mummy.

He was right.

I was wrong. Wrong in both concept and delivery.

So, a month into my new life as mother, wife and student, I have learned that...well... I have a LOT to learn.

And as always, it seems as though my children are my best and finest teachers.

Together?

We can change the world.

And you?

How do you react to learning unpleasant truths about the world?

Yourself?

 Me?

This is NOT a post about politics, BUT...

This is not a political piece, but it does involve politics - mostly the small-town life, friendship kind. 

James Terry has been in my sphere for 20 years or more, as we attended the same high school and were - and still are - pretty friendly people. We've bumped into each other here and there over the years and I have always enjoyed our chats,had while chasing kids or loading groceries, or both.

Thankfully, with the advent of Facebook, Jamie and I have managed to chat quite often, albeit virtually. We don't always agree, but there is a genuine fondness, I think, between us. So, when Jamie decided to run as Durham Region's NDP candidate for the upcoming October election, no one was prouder than me.

(Well, maybe his mum and wife and kids, but other than that...)

I do not live in Durham anymore, and have already cast my mental vote for a candidate here in Quinte, but I am nonetheless awed and impressed that Jamie has taken this huge leap, politically-speaking.

True to form, my stand-up friend has put his money where his mouth is and instead of merely whinging about politicians and policies, like the rest of us, he got informed and then got involved. Regardless of your personal political beliefs, I think it goes without saying that if more people could find the courage to do the same, this would be a different sort of world.

Certainly, a better one.

In any case, I asked Jamie a bunch of questions recently (pepper 'em with random questions, is my motto) and he responded. And so, to honour our friendship and his foray into the political arena, I am very happy to introduce Jamie Terry: father, husband, brother, friend:

Belly: We met in high school, though I don't specifically remember how. Did we take classes together, drink together...was it YOU that I kissed that at Jackma....wait, never mind. This is a family blog.

OK. The REAL question: If you could choose, would you opt again for life in small-town Ontario or did the BIG City call to you, in your youth? What do you want for your children?

Jamie: I much prefer the old days of when I grew up in Bowmanville. I always tell people it was like Mayberry. You could walk downtown and know almost every person you passed on the street as well as the people that owned the shops.

What I want for my children is to be able to grow up in a safe happy environment. My youngest is always asking if he can go bike riding by himself and I hate having to tell him no. The fact is, the world is not the world I grew up in. But I hope that we can change that and make an even better place for my grandchildren to live.

Belly: What's the last book you read for pleasure? It's perfectly OK to admit to loving and reading the Harry Potter series. If your answer is indeed one of those books, can I please borrow Book 2? I've lost mine somewhere...

Jamie: I am currently reading "Game of Thrones" by George Martin. It is a series of four books and although I am busy with the election now, I still find some time to sneak in a chapter or two. I would like to read the Potter series myself. I loved the movies as much as the kids. So when you find your copy Liz, let me know.

Belly: Your daughter has autism. I am studying Developmental Service Work and will be learning how to support kids with autism (or other challenges) and their families. What advice do you have for me and for anyone else who might find themselves working with or for a child/person with disabilities?

Jamie: Patience and lots of it. You have to learn as much as the child does. Once we started to learn about Aspergers and Autism it really opened our eyes as to why she did the things she did. I would also tell parents that you will find that although autistic children may be "deficient" in some areas, they excel in others. In my daughter's case, she has an incredible memory and an obsession with maps and writing and drawing. She is exceptionally creative and she plays piano.

Belly: If you were to create a musical soundtrack to represent your life, what would it include? *Bonus points for anything by Journey.*

Jamie: Don't Stop Believin'! That was easy!

Belly: Since declaring your intention to run as Durham Region's NDP candidate in the upcoming election (October 6th, readers! Got that? October 6th...get out and VOTE!) how has your view of politics changed, if at all? What made you toss your name into the hat?

Jamie: My views have not changed. I took a long time to come to this point. I was not a life long NDP. But the more I looked at what their values were I found myself being drawn in. Our party's line on this election is "Change that puts people first". And to me, that makes great sense. We "the people" need change. This province went from a crown jewel to a have-not province. This is unacceptable and the NDP want to right the ship and get this province and it's people back where we belong.

My decision to run was sparked during the Federal Election in May.

(Belly: Dear Readers, I would like to think that my little piece about "How To Win My Vote" had a huge some influence here, but I digress...)

I have always been interested in politics and after helping on the campaign in May, I decided that this was it, this was my time. I truly believe that if elected I can help Durham and Ontario. Our party has put forth a platform that is aimed at those that need the help the most. This is not a shoot the lights out promise the world type platform. These are all attainable, affordable changes that have the people in mind first and foremost.

Belly: Who was your favourite teacher and why? If you could tell him/her how you feel in one sentence, what would you say? 

Jamie: This is an easy one. Mr. Bill Brunt. One of the nicest and dedicated teachers ever. He taught my mother, uncles, aunt and finally myself and my brother. He was an old school "Let boys be boys!" type by allowing rough stuff in gym. But at the same time he was dedicated to instilling academics in his students. He tutored me in math in grade 9 when I had difficulty and he sat there with me until I got it. He is the best. Every teacher should learn how to teach from Bill Brunt.I feel like a better person having been taught by Bill Brunt.

Belly: What's the hardest thing you've ever done?

Jamie: Watch my son shortly after he was born be hustled away to Sick Kids after complications. I did not know if I would ever see him alive. I still have bad dreams once in awhile about that day. That by far was the hardest thing I had ever had to do.

Belly: What do you want voters to know about you and your party's platform?

Jamie: I guess I would want them to know that our platform is geared towards the everyday working man or woman and their families. For far too long they have been ignored and now we want to help. Help by taking HST off home heat,hydro and gasoline. Put money back into the pockets of the people of Ontario. We are putting people first. That's the catch line and everything in our platform is aimed at just that. Jobs,health care, HST, you name it, it is all to put people first , and their challenges first.

As far as me? Well I am just one of you. Your normal everyday Ontarian. And I think I can bring some perspective to Queens Park, Many politicians "listen" to their constituents , but they fail to understand what Ontario families have and are going through. I think my experiences would be a great contribution in aiming the government in the right direction in getting Ontario back on it's feet.

Belly: Did you ever imagine that 20 years beyond high school, we'd be "virtually" hanging out? Seriously. Think about that for a moment - I was just a small-town girl, living in my lonely wor....wait, wait, that's not right... I guess the question is, of the teenagers we were and the people we've become, who do you like best? Why?

Jamie: Well people were different back in the old days - ha, ha! But then again I have run into some who still act the same way. I would have to say the people we are now would be who I like best. I think people like you and I have gone through many things and they have rounded us into pretty good people. Both of us have families and our kids drive us nuts and it all makes us who we are. And I think that's OK. We were pedal-to-the-metal teenagers and now we are shopping for walkers. But you have to slow down at some point and enjoy life. I for one am glad that I can stay in touch with old friends such as you, Liz.

20 years ago we would have been writing letters to one another probably, now we can chat in real time (When you figure out Facebook chat, that is) and I love reading your blogs.

 Belly: Top three things on your bucket list:

1. Red Sox game at Fenway Park

2. Visit St Giles Cathedral in Edinburgh Scotland (My mother's family have a pane of stained glass in the cathedral)

3. Learn to surf.

He forgot to say, "Hang with Liz at the Cobourg Beach and buy her tea and candy," but that's OK. He's a busy dude. I am so proud of this man -a small-town boy with big dreams.

"The thing is, the decision to put your name on a ballot and go out there and be judged by the electorate is a noble act no matter what party you serve." L.R.

And you?

What are your dreams for the  future? Our country?

Any questions for Jamie?

What's on YOUR bucket list?