Chris: The only other man

Few people know it but there was another man who's attraction could have rivaled Max. Now anyone who knows me may be shocked by that information, as I am well known for being devoted to my husband; still, it is true. Max knew, and if truth be told, I think that he loved Chris more than I did.
Chris worked with Max for over a decade at the company, Wainbee. He was tall, rugged but not handsome in the traditional sense. Still, he was irresistibly charming and gregarious. Max and Chris had bonded at work; a brotherhood of sorts, the men that did not quite fit the corporate image that Wainbee was trying to achieve.
I met him for the first time at the Wainbee Christmas party the year that Jarrett was born. He and his wife saved Max and I a spot at their table; every party after that was the same: the four of us together at the parties, dancing joking and generally making a nuisance of ourselves.
Chris had been a soldier in the Canadian forces special operations and I suppose that is what gave him a brooding, haunting quality; it frequently reminded me of Max.
I told Max once after a party that Chris was the only man that I had ever considered competition for him. In Max's usual foot in mouth fashion, he piped up without thinking first, "yeah, but Chris could have any woman!", the unspoken line being that "why would he want Max's frumpy wife, when Chris could have anyone! We still laugh about the "wrong" of that comment.
Over the years there were many Wainbee functions: golf tournaments, parties, dances, Christmas celebrations and we were always together; the renegades, yet always the life of the party. we would always stay over in a hotel room and invite everyone back once the formal party had ended and long after the older generation of staff had left. We became known for singing and serving Jack Daniels with eggnog, dubbed Jacknog. (later on Jack Daniels actually came up with this as a cocktail!we were onto something!) Chris would don sunglasses and imitate Ray Charles, belting out "hit the road Jack". to this day I cannot hear the lines "oh woman, oh woman, why don't you treat me right" without hearing his voice and seeing Chris as he sung it.
Max never said as much, but I know that Chris was there for him when we learned that Connor had CP. Chris had so many dark sorrows of his own that he could relate to the pain that Max was going through. I didn't know till later that Chris and Connor shared the same birth date.
our boys came to know Chris as the Cardassian (from Star trek not reality tv) because of his muscular neck and technical abilities that to their young thoughts seemed futuristic. He helped build a drawbridge crank for their fort, which converted him to hero status, so much so that they bought him his own Cardassian figure.

Although I knew that Chris had served in the special forces and had other deep buried pains, I never realised how deep those sorrows ran. I wish that I had. 8 years ago this week, Max got a phone call. He had left Wainbee earlier that year and had not been in contact with many of the people since, so we were surprised when one former co-worker called out of the blue. After hanging up he called me up to our bedroom away from the boys. the look on his face told me something catastrophic had happened. The next 5 minutes were some of the worst minutes of my life. Max held me and told me that Chris had hung himself earlier that day and was dead. If someone had punched me in the stomach, my reaction would not have been any less than it was that evening. We had several losses before, but none like this one. I sobbed and cried as I never had; Max holding me and rocking me as he cried too. I could not believe that this wonderful heroic man was gone from our world. we would never see him again, never hear his delight in singing, never dance in his arms; he was gone and gone by his own hands. I could not reconcile that he was so forlorn that he would choose death over life and I could not believe that we never knew how lost he was.
His wife allowed Wainbee to arrange the funeral and for some perverse reason had a co-worker that both Max and Chris despised give the eulogy. It was  polite, formal and nothing like Chris. To this day, Max will get angry if he thinks about Chris' funeral, so we rarely discuss it. Gail, Chris' widow gave us some of his things for the boys. Most precious was a black leather jacket that Connor still wears, mostly to make Max happy!
I miss him to this day and always hurt at this time of year and though Max never says so, I think he feels the same.
So, to honor Chris' memory, I vowed I would do my utmost to keep in contact with those that I truly cared about and make sure that the boys would make their Cardassian proud. I know that he watches over them, and I never hear the song "Hit the road Jack" without thinking of my other true love: Chris.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OCxw79kUKpY

For Michelle: the wonder of work sisters and the miracles that happen

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9SxToTUoWGM


I have frequently commented that our family was not supported the way I felt we could be when Connor was diagnosed, and I have often observed that family is not necessarily created by birth (thank god!). this past year one of my work "sisters", Michelle experienced a devastating event: her younger brother in a brief moment of silly bravado, dove into a gravel quarry pond. He and his friends had not checked the water depth and it was much more shallow than they suspected. Steve broke his neck and was paralysed. He nearly drowned but his life was saved by his friends. he is now a quadriplegic on the road to recovery. he is a young man with 2 small children and is now facing an incredibly difficult future; a future that I have had a bit of experience dealing with.
Michelle and I had talked often about Connor and our family struggles in raising him, many times lamenting how so many missed the boat on how they could really help. mostly, I was just ranting but I like to think that on one thing she did listen
Michelle did something extraordinary for her brother: she organised a large fundraiser in their home town for him. I frequently lament how impractical people are when dealing with the disabled and how others will use fundraising for the most ridiculous of causes--sports teams, Jack and Jill parties, clubs and other luxuries that are simply optional not necessary! I was pumped; someone was helping Steve in a practical way, a way he could really use!
Steve didn't need pity or platitudes about how "inspirational" he was; he needed funds to help him through the long and expensive journey ahead.
In true family fashion, our birthing sisters and Doc's pitched in. Some of us donated various things for the silent auction: gift baskets, paintings, quilts ( in true Linda form, I got a basket of dog treats donated), and most of the birthing program bought tickets to the dance even though we knew that it was far out of town and we could not go. Michelle told me that from our hospital alone, she had raised over $1000. My heart was so full it almost burst. such a simple thing; yet such a  huge one. it was not just the money that they were raising that was so important but it was the large show of emotional support--people who truly cared--that was the true gift to Steve. Michelle said most of their small town had turned out to support Steve and many relatives drove for hours to get there. This was the real triumph of the night: the physical show of love and caring that showed Steve he was never far from a community of thoughts and prayers; he was not forgotten and he was not invisible.
I hope that if Michelle's mother reads this she will not mind if I am puffed up quite a bit with pride for my Southlake sister, because this week she was my hero for supporting her brother the way he needed to be supported; by listening, caring and showing concrete proof of her bottomless love!


if you are interested, this is the website that is still taking donations for Steve's Journey.

http://forsteve.wix.com/home#!donate/c1vud

Heroes go the distance-for Karen, Joey and all my other heros

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0_aD8FUK4Jg&feature=fvsr


In some ways, Jarrett grew up fast. Having a younger brother with a disability made sure of that. he was asked to do more than others than his age, no matter how hard we tried to do otherwise, and he tells me that we did a better job than many other parents of children with special needs. He has learned this because the universe and his life path have led him to working with children with neurological disabilities. to this end, he was a camp counsellor and supervisor for 3 years at a remarkable camp in the Muskokas. This beautiful setting provided a safe haven for children diagnosed with Autism, Tourettes syndrome, acquired brain injuries and other equally significant neurological difficulties.it was an extraordinary place, which I believe settled Jarrett on the career life path he has chosen as a child and youth worker.
As you can imagine, he was surrounded by many like minded young adults, who were interested in the same things he was, including music. to this end, they formed a "camp band", complete with guitars, banjo, percussion and sometimes even a dulcimer. The played every Sunday night at a local bar. Fortuitously, it was on the way back from our property, and Jarrett invited us to sit in on the music, enjoy some wings and beer and sometimes even get up with the band and perform. I don't think that there has been a time when I had as much fun going out for wings.
During one of the Sunday nights, some of the teens that were clients at the camp came to watch as an evening out. One of the teen boys, who was autistic, asked if he could sing a song, to which the band whole heartedly invited him up. The next 10 minutes of my life there could only be described as magical.
This young man showed more courage than people twice his age or people who were called "Normal."
He took the microphone with confidence and told Jarrett he would sing the song "go the distance.'
For those who are not familiar with the song, it is the theme from Disney's Hercules. His voice was strong, pure and pitch perfect, never wavering, nor missing a single lyric. this is not an easy song to  sing. its lyrics change throughout the song, with even the chorus changing at some points and a change in key. Yet, this young man, consider by some as less than the rest, sang out confidently and proudly. I will never be able to hear that song again without hearing his voice, and I realised that the song was more than just a Disney cartoon to him; it was really the story of his life:

I have often dreamed

Of a far off place

Where a hero's welcome

Will be waiting for me

Where the crowds will cheer

When they see my face

And a voice keeps saying

This is where I'm meant to be

I'll be there someday

I can go the distance

I will find my way

If I can be strong

I know every mile

Will be worth my while

I will go most anywhere

To feel like I belong

Down an unknown road

To embrace my fate

Though that road may wander

It will lead me to you

And a thousand years

Would be worth the wait

It might take a lifetime

But somehow I'll see it through

And I won't look back

I can go the distance

And I'll stay on track

No I won't accept defeat

It's an uphill slope

But I won't lose hope

Till I go the distance

And my journey is complete

But to look beyond the glory is the hardest part

For a hero's strength is measured by his heart

Like a shooting star

I will go the distance

I will search the world

I will face its harms

I don't care how far

I can go the distance

Till I find my hero's welcome

Waiting in your arms...

The words of this song were what he was doing right there at that moment. He was climbing that mountain and conquering it all. He was facing down the fear, the prejudice, and the bullies and standing his ground, on his terms and no one elses. he was not going to back down, look back, accept defeat, going the distance to find a place to belong in the world; a world that rarely accepts and reveres children who are different.  In a word, he was my hero.

Yet, as I looked around the bar at the other councillors in the audience and more important, my sons face and the faces of those in the band, I realised that I was surrounded by a room full of heroes. The faces of the young people who had spent the summer and many others like it, providing a safe haven and a place to belong, positively glowed with pride and delight. it wasn't the selfishness that some might expect; that they had done this wonderful thing and look how good they were.After all, Sunday was there night off at the bar, where they were supposed to be getting away from it all. Nope, they were just so happy that this boy had the confidence and ability to happily get up on stage and sing. Jarrett did not stop smiling through the whole song. When he was done singing, the applause was thunderous and rivaled that of a rock star; I didn't need to look at Max to know that he was wiping tears from his eyes.
According to the dictionary, the definition of Hero is:

1

a : a mythological or legendary figure often of divine descent endowed with great strength or ability

b : an illustrious warrior

c : a man admired for his achievements and noble qualities

d : one who shows great courage

People waste a lot of time making heroes out of people that are far from deserving. Actors, sports stars and other "famous" people, who in my opinion simply do not make the cut. You do not have to look to the magazines to find one; there are always those around us who "show great courage, and are admired for their achievements and noble qualities." That day, a young autistic teenager stood as a hero to an entire room full of people and humbled them more than words can say, and as always, one of my sons, My Jarrett, was mine.

A life without Music would be a mistake-Nietchze

“‘Music is a legal drug for athletes,’ claims Dr. Costas Karageorghis, an expert on the effects of music on exercise, at Brunel University [in London],” reports The Guardian. “In his latest book, Inside Sport Psychology, he claims that listening to music while running can boost performance by up to 15 per cent.”
Jarrett was in music lessons before he was 3 years old. I remember coming home from lessons one Saturday morning when my next door neighbour sadly said, that she wished that they could put her son in music, but they just didn't have the money! At the time, they were putting up new "carriage lights" on the garage, purely for show, since our houses came with lights on the garages. I looked at those lights, knowing that they were over $50 each and realised that, I had paid about the same amount for Jarrett's music lessons that month. Not enough money for music? Lady, Please! you should always have enough money for music! that's like saying you don't have enough money for food. In the long run, I was proven right: the carriage lights have long since been replaced more than once and Jarrett plays bass, guitar, mandolin, and banjo. Knowing Jarrett,, there are even more instruments that I don't even know about.

When Connor was finally diagnosed at 7mths and set up with the infant development program, the therapists always has the same question: "What are your goals for Connor?" being my usual cheeky self, my answer was also always the same, :I want him to play a sport; I don't care which one. I want him to play a musical instrument, I was thinking maybe trombone because I could move the slide for him, (for the record, Connor hates the trombone--traitor!) and I want him married and out of my house by the time he is 25. I gave him 2 more years than Jarrett because I figured it might take him longer!"
One particularly, forward thinking, Occupational Therapist, Michelle, was tickled pink by this response. Why? Most parents, she told me, answer thinks like "I want him to walk." My sense of hubris at the time allowed me to feel superior. Of course,, he wouldn't walk! but, I believed it would not be that hard to find a musical instrument of some sort for him to learn. After all, music was the most important thing in life! At least, to me it was. Thus, began a lifelong quest. But, by way of background, there was more behind my convictions than simply wanting Connor to fit into the Davis model of playing a musical instrument.
I had research to back me up!

– “Music education produces myriad benefits, strengthening kids’ abilities in reading, math, and verbal intelligence,” says PSMag.com (formerly MillerMcCune.com). “New British research suggests it may also teach something less tangible, but arguably just as important: The ability to empathise. In a year-long program focused on group music-making, eight- to 11-year-old children became markedly more compassionate, according to a just-published study from the University of Cambridge. The finding suggests kids who make music together aren’t just having fun: they’re absorbing a key component of emotional intelligence.”--

at the best of times, physical and occupational therapy can be boring, especially for a gifted child like Connor. it is repetitive,, with little immediate gratification and sometimes it is even painful. To convince a 3 year old, even one as intelligent as Connor, that these therapies are necessary, takes one of the best sales pitches you can come up with, otherwise, the child will stubbornly dig their emotional heels in and never comply. Because of the physical weakness of Connors chest muscles, therapists were always suggesting that we get him to "blow bubbles." Well, let me tell you, that you can only amuse a child such as Connor with bubbles for so long! I was forced to find a different solution: enter music. 

As is the habit of the universe, when I was looking for a music instructor interested in working with disabled children, I was introduced to a physiotherapist who was interested in using the Kindermusic program as part of physical therapy. 

It was a mutual beneficial arrangement. Connor was introduced to music with singing and rhythm instruments and she used aspects of both her therapy and musical training to work with Connor to improve his breath support and oblique chest muscles.

Although, the sessions had to end eventually, due to time constraints, it was a good start. Still, it was not what I had envisioned when I said I wanted him to play an instrument. The quest continued. I am sure that Connor was convinced that I had lost my sanity, as I paraded different instrument choices in front of him: Recorder, Tambourine, Dulcimer, Autoharp, and Keyboard, and although he seemed to get quite a bit of enjoyment from them, I know that he felt isolated in a family of musicians, not being able to join in. 

I was hopeful that perhaps he could use his voice as his instrument. But as one of God's great practical jokes, the physical implications of Cerebral Palsy even reach to the vocal cords. (the fact that many in my family cannot sing a note did not help).  In his teenage years, his singing voice could peel paint off the walls.

However, as always, Connor defied the odds and the barriers. Refusing to accept that this was an area that he could not excel in, he had friends, and sometimes even enemies, teach him vocalisation and enunciation. As part of Humanities degree, he studied the history of music as well as, aspects of listening and the nuances of musical composition. He was well known for stealing any music he could get his hands on and his iTunes library is so vast, he needed an external hard drive for it. His knowledge and appreciation for music rivals anyone that I know; and although a small part of me still laments that he cannot join in on one of our jam sessions, I know that there is no one else I would rather go to the symphony with!

So, if I was to meet up with the infant development team now, 20 years later, I would tell them that Connor not only met but exceeded all my  goals for him. He can swim and has his green belt in JuJitsu. he played electric wheelchair hockey. he has more knowledge than most about music and a pitch perfect ear. he even talks about getting a musical degree one day.

and although he has not gotten married yet, there is still time! After all, he is only 22!  his brother hasn't even moved out yet!

family, inlaws and outlaws

It is said that you can choose your friends but not your relatives. they underlying statement being that you should "put up and shut up." (cant say that I ever took that one to heart!) But, what about the family you do pick: your in laws. when you are young and dating or even considering marriage, people will say that you are marrying the person, not the his family. This is poor advice at best, and BS at its worst.
First of all, your mates family is him and he is them. Ask anyone who has been married a length of time and they will tell you that about 10 years into the marriage/relationship they started to notice that all the little things that bothered them about their spouse is also present in his close relatives; in my house we call these "Steelisms" (to be fair when I am annoying my husband he calls me Jim after my father; he is never foolish enough to use my mothers name, that would be fatal!)
While many people marry quick or spend little time with their in-laws and plead ignorance to this phenomenon, I have no such defence. Max and I dated for 6 years. when we first started dating, his sisters were 12 and 15. I have essentially watched them grow up, which is both a good and bad thing. I attended family birthdays, holidays, weddings and even funerals before we were married. I knowingly chose this family. But, something happened that I did not plan for: we grew up. we became adults and life happened. To say that our family has had its share of trials would be an understatement: 4 divorces, the deaths of both of my parents, a child with a disability and what can only be described as my father in laws descent into abject immorality and decay. (but this is a whole other book to describe properly. Suffice it to say that my father in law is an acquired taste at the best of times.)
I can honestly say that if I had designed  my mother in law, she could not have been any better. I have told her this on many occasions. Never, not once, in 29 years of marriage, has she ever interfered. Being the mother of boys, I complimented her on how good she was int he mother in law role, since I had been given a small taste of it when Jarrett started dating. She simply smiled and said, "It is not always easy." (she is a woman of few words!) I did not deeply consider her response at the time but came to realise later how hard it would be to keep MY mouth shut , if one of my sons marries someone like me! After all, my husbands family, for the most part, is somewhat subdued. Arguing, at least openly, is severely frowned upon (in my family, my mother called them "lively discussions!) and I know that I am kind of known for being loud, abrasive and at times, a little bit cocky. I am sure this causes a few tongue biting moments at dinner tables; although, I have also seen a few secret smiles and hidden giggles at my antics, as if my mother in law had wanted to do the same thing!
yep, as mother in laws go, I have a gem and I would definitely pick her again. I suppose that the relationships that I have struggled with the most over the years would be the sibling ones; both my own sister and Max's.
Ironically, one of the things that appealed to me most when we were first dating, was how close he and his siblings were. Unfortunately, I never had the same with my biological sister. nor, did I have a brother. so as we all grew into adults, the relationships evolved. Sometimes, not always for the best; but, not always horrible either.
If I had any complaint, I think most people would find it a surprising one: it is that I am not considered truly "one of them." That they do not consider me " real family." instead, I am some kind of pseudo-family type person that has attached itself to their brother.
I actually chose this family and one of the reasons I chose it was for the sibling relationships (and of course my husband!) I truly consider my in laws as my family. I wanted new sisters for I was never fond of the one my mother and father provided for me. Unfortunately, they did not choose me! Through no fault of their own, they had a very different and unusual individual, far from what they were used to dealing with, joining their family. I am sure that I am very different from what they envisioned their big brother would eventually marry.
So, although I chose them and consider them exactly the same as my biological sister and have watched them grow and us all mature into adults, the feelings of acceptance and belonging are not necessarily reciprocated. If one was honest, why should they be? Just like a biological family, this is a group of different and sometimes diametrically opposed individuals who are thrust together not through choice or commonality, but by marriage and procreation.
Max's family is an energetic, physically competitive, group of individuals. Even the children, share their lifestyle vision, and while Jarrett definitely embodies this vision Connor cannot and I don't want to. We are the cerebral, thinkers and philosophers of the the group.
As a result, even though this is my chosen family, the one that I enveloped as my own, I still do not fit in, the same way I did not fit into my biological family, and more often than not, I am sitting on the sidelines with Connor, (which is not always the worst place to be!).
However, the sidelines is not where you get to know people and as the years have gone by, the in law relationships that I chose because I wanted to have siblings to be close to and to be accepted by, have drifted apart.
So after 35 years of being with the same man, I can honestly say, for the most part, I would do it again. But, I would do it differently. Instead of going into my marriage with the expectation of being accepted and integrated by all as "one of us," I would know from the beginning that while in laws are a form of family that embodies the same expression: "you can chose your friends; not your family", in laws, unlike the biological family, have no obligation whatsoever, to put up and shut up. Nor, should they. Because, while you may have chosen your spouse and as a result them, they did not chose you.

Whats the hurry!

My job is one of waiting. It is not predictable and can take any amount of time that is needed. an infant being born makes it's appearance in seconds or days. Thus, I have become adept at hurrying when required but also learning a modicum of patience in others. Ironically, many would describe me as one of the most impatient people that they know, but I can honestly defend that with the response, "Only with stupidity!"
I did not come by any patience that I have easily and I think if I was to answer truthfully, any Zen attitudes that I have, I have acquired since raising Connor.
Before Connor, I was absolutely anal about being late; a leftover OCD trait from my father, who made sure we were always early. I was never without a watch on my wrist, which I checked obsessively, becoming stressed if I was even a few minutes late. Having a child with a disability will cure you of this habit quicker than any amount of therapy or chemical intervention ever could.
Physio, Occupational therapists, Physicians and clinics are never on time, constantly overbooked and understaffed. One late patient has a domino effect on the entire day. Preparing, packing and travelling with Connor was an adventure all on its own. Usually by myself or if I was lucky with Jarrett's assistance, I struggled in all weather, to load Connor, his wheelchair and myself into the van, only to face the unpredictable traffic of  Toronto. Most of the time, it was during morning or afternoon rush hour. Worrying about what time it was or how late we were, simply was not an option; at least, not one that would have allowed me to keep my sanity. So, in a swim or drown sort of choice, I gave up wearing a watch and stopped worrying about what time it was, when it would get done and whether or not I was late. Instead, I started making his appointments and outings into a kind of adventure, planning our route and time around our favorite haunts: a lunch at a special place or with special food, a shopping trip or a book reading there and back, (with the required debate along with it!), all to pass the time more pleasantly. it worked and it worked almost too well.
During the past two years, I have struggled with severe osteoarthritis, repetitive knee injuries and dislocations and finally a total knee replacement. As a result, I have spent many hours in clinics of my own, waiting again for Doctors, Physios and others. In fact, this blog was written during one such visit. However, there has also been a spillover. I am now impatient with the impatient people! I am intolerant of the sighing, toe tapping individuals in the banks or in the stores. I have few kind words for those who fail to recognize that everyone has somewhere to be and no matter how self important you think you might be, truth be told that it is just hubris. Everyone is important to someone and everyone has somewhere to be, everyone!
Why not make the most of the time while you wait? why waste it being frustrated or angry? Sing a song, read a book, plan a vacation or if you are like my husband, turn to the person next to you and talk pleasantly to them, maybe learning a thing or two!
After all, Whats the hurry?!

Hounds to the hunt

As I have mentioned before, we have hounds, and since having knee surgery, it has been my habit  to take them to the off leash dog park near our home early in the morning.The rationale for this is simple: there are fresher scents on the ground in the morning. Hounds are scent dogs. if you do not know what the significance of that is, I will enlighten you: their sense of smell is considered almost 10,000 times more developed than that of a human. in fact, their sense of smell is better than their eyesight. Hounds were bred, originally, to follow the scent of the prey and sound the alarm for the hunters that were higher up visually, usually on horseback with guns so that they could shoot the prey that the hounds had flushed.. For the modern day hound owner, at least those of us who are non-hunting suburban dwellers, this is problematic at best. I neither ride horses or hunt, so my hounds behaviour is at best entertaining and at worst, down right frustrating and annoying. Why? because, when a hound has caught the scent of game, be it rabbit, deer,raccoon, or whatever, nothing and I mean nothing, will get them off their quest. Nose to the ground, they will sing out their find to the others following the trail wherever it goes.
Small game rarely travels in a straight line from one spot to another, so without looking where they are going, the hounds follow the trail back and forth around never once seeing the progress or the fact  that they  have covered the same ground 20 times without stopping.there is no point calling them to come when they have the scent. Apparently, their sense of smell is directly related to their ability to obey and their hearing is selective. (not unlike some of their owners!)
so why would i be encouraging this behaviour and why would I get out of bed early, just to experience it? Simple, these hounds will run themselves silly, tiring themselves out, noses to the ground, without me walking a step. I sit on the bench, enjoy the coffee and the morning, confident that by the time we leave they will be exhausted for the rest of the day with their tongues lazily lolly gagging from their jaws.
It occurred to me, as I watched them, that some people's behaviour is comparable to my hounds. the remain single minded  on following their path twisting and turning, never looking up to see if the goal is there or if they have gone in circles.
Max loves to tell the story  of how, when walking the dogs in the winter, they flushed a deer. it was no more than 10 feet from them, but Mango, the oldest, supposed deer hound, never noticed the deer. Instead, snout firmly planted in place, she moved back and forth, yelling about where the deer had been.
We have all known that person; whether as a co-worker, relative, in-law or friend, they are the ones who never focus on the future or look up at what is right in front of them. Instead, the keep going in circles following an old path, without ever catching what they were really looking for. the complaints about their failure to capture their prize or reach their goals are louder than the baying of my hound pack on the bunny trail. Yet, if they would just look up, follow the straight path or listen to those around them, they would stand a much better chance of achieving what they really wanted.
those of us who are closer to terriers and bulldogs in personality, frequently butt heads with the scent hounds in our lives. We are the "eyes on the ball, never give up" sorts. we see that ball flying through the air and we run towards it, catching it sometimes mid flight, before it ever hits the ground.
When I was younger, I always thought that if I was a dog, I would be a beagle. Inspired by Charles Shultz's Snoopy, I envisioned myself as the playful dog that hunted the red baron, pretended to be a vulture, and licked unsuspecting, annoying people. But, as the mother of a child with special needs, there is no place for a  hound that never lifts its head off the ground, yelling and going in circles. That personality might fly with rich divorcees or Yuppie hockey moms, but this job, my job, the job of successfully raising a physically challenged child who is also gifted, it calls for a mongrel; hopefully, one with a bit of terrier, mastiff, border collie and sometimes even pit bull.
 this life requires that your eyes are always up and focused on the horizon, thinking about what is coming next and at times, being prepared to fight with all you have to protect or assist your young.  of all the moms of kids with special needs that i have had the Honor to know in my life, there hasn't been a beagle in the bunch and we are darn proud of it. After all, we would be of little or no value to our kids if we were always going in circles.

Maybe that is why I own hounds. Their ridiculous and sometimes pointless antics entertain me and show me that though it might have been easier, with less pressure to be the one that never looks up and just tells the guy on the horse where to shoot; it is much more fun to be the one that has the ability to catch the ball mid air while never taking your eyes off it!

Raising the Tasmanian devil and roses--or a shorter description--Teenager

Back in 2002, before I ever knew there was such a venue as a blog, I took an English composition course. The initial excuse that I gave everyone was that I was starting my nursing degree and this was the course that they recommended you begin with to assist with your future assignments. But truth be told, I had always wanted to see if I was a writer and this was as good a chance as any. Unfortunately, I did not take into account my excruciatingly poor grammar, which lead to a B+ mark that I have never lived down!
that not withstanding, there was one piece that I was particularly proud of and that I had wanted to write for some time: my impressions of raising a teenager.
 I did not like being a teenager, I did not like being around teenagers when I was one and I was not looking forward to raising 2 of them. Jarrett did not disappoint. as the saying goes "he was all that and more!"
the following paper was the one that I submitted to my English professor. Happily, I have corrected the grammatical and style mistakes! perhaps now, I would even get an A! and to be clear,,,,this was written about raising Jarrett as a teenager; Connor was a peach! (Oh and if you believe that, I have some swamp land for sale! :)

Taz, Thorns, and Teenagers.
I have heard it said that raising teenagers is like trying to nail Jello to a tree. Just trying to picture the impossibility of this endeavour does form a mental picture of the trials and tribulations of sharing your life with teens, and while I appreciate the frustration and futility illustrated by this analogy, my experience is that raising a teen is like a cross between growing roses and living with the Tasmanian Devil.
Sixteen years ago, we were doubly blessed with the birth of our first child and the purchase of our first home. I had always admired my mother-in-laws spanning gardens, and longed to duplicate her roses in my own yard.
However, roses are not indigenous to Canada; they are an import from the more temperate climate of England. Roses are fragile plants, requiring protection from the harsh elements and many pests that may attack them; even though, their strong canes and fierce thorns camouflage their need for pampering.  So it is with a teenager, whose frequently spiny exterior shields your view of their pain and frustrations, brought on by the daily struggles of peer pressure and the pangs of first love. as I long to take him into my mothering arms again, as I did when he was a toddler, and shield him form the realities of lifes's sharp thorns, his fight for his independence is more than likely to stab the good intentions away. Then when I least expect it, he will show the soft vulnerable side of himself that I knew was always there. as with my  rose bushes, for months they will look just like thick wooden stalks with fierce prickles, and then one morning, suddenly I am blessed with soft velvety petals unfolding in the sunlight.
my main motivation for wanting roses in my garden, despite the challenge of growing them, was their heavy fragrance, which filled the morning air when the petals were heavy with dew. When my son was an infant, I would cradle him in my arms and deeply inhale the milky soft sweetness of his hair and breath. Unbeknowst to him, and probably even to my husband, I would sneak into his room at night and inhale deeply of his tender perfume, taking a moment to stroke the velvety texture of his petal pink cheeks. Although, the sweetness has left the fragrance of my teenager, his pungent aromas still fill my mind and our home. Whether it is the bouquet of his after shave of the month, the spicy smell of his deodorant, the fresh tang of the outdoors after a long summers day or his mustiness after a hard work out, his teenage scents fill our home and our lives.
Although the challenges of rose gardening do illustrate many aspects of living with a teenager, it occurred to me on afternoon while watching Bugs Bunny cartoons, that I was actually raising a facsimile of the Tasmanian
devil. On a typical day after school, a vortex of swirling energy will move through our house sucking everything into its path. as he hist the refrigerator, he systematically empties if of its edible, and sometimes even inedible contents, grunting and groaning the whole time, leaving food and dishes in a tell tale path.  the only thing that seems to be missing from the after school tornado is a large rabbit, munching on a carrot, saying "Whats up doc?" As with roses, Tasmanian devils are heavy feeders.
Similar to Taz, there is nothing quiet about raising a teenager. His clumping feet, loud and deepening voice, fill the forest of our home drowning out all other sounds. I have also come to the conclusion that there is an unwritten law that as teenagers you must try to ruin yours and your parents hearing, with your music. Although my sons taste in music is not  as offensives as some that teenagers may choose, I still live in fear that he will deafen, his brother, us and himself with it. After all, the entire collection of guitar licks of Eric Clapton can compete with the howling winds of a cyclone or the vortex caused by the Devil.
Communicating with a teenager is also like trying to talk to Taz. the series of grunts and groans, interspersed with "whatever", hardly resemble intelligent repartee, but at some point they suddenly make sense. As with the devil, somehow between the unintelligible moaning, Bugs and Taz get their points across. Occasionally, my teenage son can astonish me and actually sit down and have a stimulating and learned conversation with me. Of course, I know at this point, he is only condescending to communicate, because, after all, I am just "Mom".
As the creatures of the forest know, and any younger brother can tell you, the angry temperament of the Tasmanian Devil and the mercurial moods of a teenager, are enough to send grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and faint of heart parents running for cover. just as the animated rabbits and raccoons are drawn scurrying in fear, yelling, "The devil is coming!" In my house, we have learned that when my oldest is blasting through the day, the best that we can hope for is divine intervention!

over the years, there have been may disappointments in trying to grow my roses. I have lost many bushes over the winters, only to replant in the spring. I continue to try to be successful in my gardening, while protecting them with burlap and mulch, and being wounded by their bristly barbed thorns, as I prune them in the spring. As I trim the dead wood away and watch the canes sprout upwards toward the spring sun, I also watch my son grow upward, reaching the sky with his hands and heart, longing to be independent. I know that the heartaches of raising my son, like the roses, were worth the effort, and I keep replanting my love in his heart. I have also come to realise that although I cannot nail Jello to a tree, living with the Tasmanian devil is not as bad as it seems at first; sometimes, it can even be fun.

Gumption--we all need some!

Max tells me that I have "gumption" for writing the blog, and keeping up with other things after surgery. (Max also thinks we live in a western sitcom in the 1950's and uses words like Gumption!)
I think he meant it as a compliment; at least I hope he did. I was surprised to find that there was an actual definition of gumption; albeit, a casual one. still it is something:

gump·tion

   [guhmp-shuhn]  Show IPA

noun Informal .

1.

initiative; aggressiveness; resourcefulness: With his gumptionhe'll make a success of himself.

2.

courage; spunk; guts: It takes gumption to quit a high-payingjob.

3.

common sense; shrewdness.

I like that! Courage, spunk, guts, common sense! yep that is something that I strive for. Although, I prefer "moxie". it always sounded so much classier!

I am sure that others would focus more on the aggressiveness as  proof of my gumption,  since that seems to be a word that is associated with me quite often. and forget all those classes you take in training that teach you how to be "assertive". Unless the person you are talking to has taken that class they will think you are being aggressive. they fail to see the difference. 

So where did all this gumption come from. I know that it has come in handy with raising our sons. Jarrett required quite a bit of spunk to deal with him on a good day. when I tell people that I raised the Tasmanian devil, I am not exaggerating. we were known to run and hide from him when he was in a bad mood. He will tell you that I went nose to nose with him and never backed down. 

I really needed it with Connor. to say that society required quite a bit of spunk to get around some of the road blocks is an understatement. I know that for the most part we just used a lot of common sense but there were time that outright shrewdness was required.

but mostly, I think that my extra helping of gumption came when I  was a child. Most people who know me, know that I speak openly about my relationship  (or lack thereof) with my parents. Although, neither was diagnosed until a year before they passed away, both my parents were bi-polar. However, they both exhibited their mental illnesses in different ways.

My father was as unpredictable as the wind. you never knew what was coming next, and he was willing to try anything. after all, the man bought an airport because he had always dreamed of flying. (me, I think it would have been simpler to just rent a plane, but whatever!)

My mother was a different story. she was the one that we all know. the person who spends a great majority of her life lamenting what she wanted to do. almost every sentence was a "would have, could have, should have." If you asked her why she did not follow the paths that she wanted the roadblocks were innumerable. her answers usually included "I don't have enough time, I don't have enough money" and my personal favourite, "I am too old for that". Too old? who are we kidding. she was less than 40 when I first heard her use this excuse. I had asked her if she liked decorating so much, why didn't she go to school and become a decorator. Her answer was that she was too old to go back to school.

I was not very old before I figured out that my mother did not have any gumption and my father had way too much.

So I tried to find the balance. I stuck with the predictable as much as possible, but also resolved that I would never be too old to try something and if I made a goal or had a dream, I would do my utmost to achieve it. I was not going to go to my deathbed with a lifetime full of "could have, would have or should haves" after all, life is way too short.

Needless to say, life has thrown up a few roadblocks to this plan and the knee replacement is a result of some of those roadblocks.

in an effort to keep Connor in the home he was raised in and not have to move a ridiculous distance from where we were, we stayed in our two storey home. Until 8 years ago, this home was not wheelchair accessible. we had a ramp on the back door but the door was too small for the large wheelchair to fit through since it was a sliding glass door. so, until Connor was 14years old, I lifted him him from the large wheelchair to a smaller in house one. anyone who has met our son will tell you that he is not a little boy. as a result of that, and because of a rare genetic collagen mutation thanks to my Davis genetics, I had severely arthritic and dislocated knees by the time I was 50. most surgeons will tell you that you should not have a knee replacement until age 60 because they have a finite life span. but if your body gives you no other choice, then you take the surgery.

So, with my new knee firmly in place, I fall back on my gumption to keep me sane. this blog is only one result. People had always told me to write a book about raising Connor. but if you go on Amazon.com and look at the results of titles in books that somebody wrote about overcoming adversity, the list is almost endless, and it can be summed up in one sentence: You need gumption!

So I decided instead to write about what I have learned. what raising Connor and being in a family together has taught us, with the intentions to enlighten, enliven and perhaps educate as many people as I can.

 As far as the other things that make Max think i have gumption, he gives me more than enough opportunities to be "resourceful" on a weekly basis, and for that matter so does my job. Courage is something that every parent needs, but the parent of a child with disabilities has it in spades. when you have faced down the medical, educational and social stereotypes and norms and won, nothing scares you; and I mean NOTHING.

I think that the other thing that raising a child with a disability shows you is that life is to short and a life lived with regrets is not worth living. so many of the kids that Connor played hockey with, did Jujitsu with and have gone to university with, have a terminal, degenerative illness. I have watched kids play wheelchair hockey with a ventilator breathing for them attached to the back of their chair. screw the NHL players , that takes gumption!

So, unlike my mother, when I set goals, I follow them. I write the blog, I work on my degree, I joined the band to play trombone, sung at open mic in bluegrass,  and I write the romance novel. Once the knee is finished healing, Max and I will do  ballroom dancing and I might even try horseback riding or ballet.

Yep, he's right. it does take gumption! and i am glad that I got some.

acceptance and understanding--its amazing how much we need them

After Connor was born, i did not quite feel finished in the childbearing department. I had always dreamed of a large family and swore (based on my own sibling experience) that if I had two children of the same sex, I would have a third. I did not anticipate any resistance from Max, since he was from a home of 3 siblings and seemed to be very content with that arrangement. Indeed one of the thing that initially drew me to him I (and one of the things that caused the most rifts between us) was how close he was to his siblings, while my sister and I had nothing in common.
As it turns out, as a childbearer, I am an utter failure. being allergic to latex and having my asthma react to the hormones of pregnancy were not a good mix with pregnancy and a Cesarean birth. still I begged Max for another child. since the doctors had left Connor's birth with the advice "never let her get pregnant again" (based on the assessment that I had almost died from anaphalaxis in the surgery), Max would not waiver from his position. NO more pregnancies, not then, not ever!
I tried in vain to move him from the position. after all, I now knew that I was allergic to Latex and there were alternatives. I sought out a 2nd and even 3rd opinions from some of the foremost obstetricians in our area. The all were of the opinion that knowing what we knew now, it would not be a problem to me to carry another child, and since CP was a random disability, not connected to anything that we could tell, the chances were slim that we would have another disabled child. However, Max would not budge; not one centimetre. I begged, I cried, I pleaded. I even considered just stopping birth control and not telling him, but I could not bring myself to be that devious.
In the end we came to a compromise. Max said that I could adopt as many kids or puppies as I wanted to (we also had 2 dogs at the time) but he was not going to risk my life with another pregnancy. I suppose that at the time, I should have realised that this should how much he truly loved me, not wanting to lose me for anything, but all I could hear at the time were my ovaries screaming and my uterus aching.
So adoption it was. by the time we came to this agreement Connor was in grade 8 and looking at high school so it seemed like a good time to explore our options. Initially, we thought about foster care. there were so many kids with disabilities that we knew of in foster care that we thought this might be the best use of our resources. After researching it we knew it was not for us, as a friend of mine pointed out "do you think you could give them back?" I knew that I never could. I also did not think that neither Max or myself would be able to keep our mouths shut if the birth parents were doing things that we did not agree upon.
So we moved on to the adoption option. Several of the physicians that I worked with at the time offered to refer us to the next birth mother that was looking for parents. while a newborn appealed to me, we did not think it was fair to take that experience away from someone who had never had a baby. Besides, we had all the orthopaedic equipment, knew all the ins and outs, we thought that our resources would be best used in the adoption of another special needs child. after all, we also were aware that they were the hardest to find homes for and we seemed to be pretty good at it based on the kids we had!
I must say that the pre-adoption process was rigorous and fascinating. because we were doing a public not private adoption, we went to a series of classes with the children's aid society. every week for 6 weeks we sat with other couples considering the same things we were. we bought an read more books than I care to count and opened up parts of ourselves and our family that i didn't know existed.
As the weeks progressed and it became closer to the time when they would be inspecting our home and talking to family members, we made our family and friends aware of our plan.
The reaction was not what I expected. although, looking back I am not sure what I thought the reaction would be. the most prominent of all expressed thoughts was "Don't you think you have enough on your plate? why would you want to add more?" as though our lives was some kind of " all you can eat" buffet and we had overloaded it. we had never asked for the "Plate" we had gotten but neither did we regret it. this was our family. apparently, others saw it differently than we did. it truly surprised me that family members would be thinking that we were too stressed already, since very few of them tried to do anything to alleviate the stress. our lives and our parenting of Connor was always discussed as "no big deal" it was how Max had always wanted. (mind you it is also how he treats everything else)
I was not surprised that my Mother did not approve. after all, my mother had not approved of anything that I had done since I was sixteen. What did come as a shock, was that not one person, friend, family, co-worker, boss or doctor agreed with what we thought was a wonderful and beautiful idea. while some of the reactions were negative, but in a subtle fashion--my father's "oh really" for example--others were down right hurtful. One family member (in front of our sons) said "Why would you want another one?" as if Connor was some kind of mole, or bad piece art work that having one of was more than enough and conceiving of having another "one" was absolutely unthinkable.. It was at this point that I realised my biggest fear: not only would I be fighting society for acceptance of our son, but I would be fighting his own family. If Connor had been accepted and embraced as a functioning and important member of the family, then another child with special needs would just be that: another child. Yet, the opposite seemed to be true.
by the time we had come to this decision we had spent almost 14 years fighting everything from Doctors, therapists, schools and family to have our son receive the care and consideration that he needed. I knew that I did not have it in me to fight for him and then fight for another child.
We were the first couple that CAS called for a home study. they were so impressed by our record and by the fact that we WANTED to adopt a child with special needs that they had put us at the top of the list.
It was not meant to be. without the most basic of acceptance and understanding, I knew we could not do it. Although, most of the time, I felt like we had done everything alone with Connor, I never doubted that, some of the family and friends at least, cared about him and loved him. But, really what choice did they have ? he was related to them by birth. If we willingly brought a child into our family that we knowingly chose because they had disability, I did not believe that child would have been afforded the same apparent, luxury. I knew deep in my heart that while Connors flaws were tolerated, an adopted child may not be so lucky.
So, regrettably, we let go of the dream of a third addition to our family and most probably it was the right choice. As Connor entered high school, life became quite difficult. I lost my father, who had been one of Connors biggest supporters and suffered several health crisis. Connor required an extraordinary amount of help with school work. I believe if my focus had been divided between him and a younger child, one of us would have suffered, most probably me; and although it surprises me still, it is important that in the decisions of your life, you feel that at least SOME of the important people around you think it is a good idea.
Looking around at our very empty nest now, a small part of me regrets that we did not follow through, especially since Max wanted a girl! However, freedom is an excellent reward as well and Connor and Jarrett have more than made up for anything we may have missed in the parenting department.
If you have read other blogs of mine you will know that we never did overcome the acceptance thing and there are times when we are still invisible, and while my ovaries no longer scream at me, I still try to borrow other peoples kids at times when I am missing the parenting role. Most of the times the parents don't mind and I know that eventually I will have grandchildren to cuddle; and although we did not get to adopt "as many kids as I wanted to" Max has still come to regret those words. once again, my long and exact memory has bitten him in the butt and lets just say that he is grateful that  Bradford has a 3 dog limit as a by-law, because what I haven't been able to adopt in kids, I have managed to rescue in dogs!

The big LIE: find your soulmate! instead find the laughter :)

the other day, Connor was lamenting relationships and how hard it is to find someone. He asked me if I believe in soul mates the way so many of his compatriots do. I do not believe in finding your soul mate. In fact, I am doubtful that such a thing even exists! and even if it did, what are the odds that you would be able to find the one person that your soul matches to. it is a statistical nightmare. I think that the "finding of a soul mate" has been one of the most detrimental things that the media has perpetrated on our society in the last 100 years. our grandparents did not wander about finding the one person that made their heart flutter. in many cases (especially, in my family) it was simply the first person you had sex with and if you were unlucky the person that you got pregnant with. yet, they had a lower divorce rate and statistically, rated their lives as happier.
Obviously, I did not advise my children to marry or stay with the first person that they had sex with! in both their cases it would have been disastrous! nor do we belong to a culture that arranges marriages. (although, there are time when I wish we were!)
in the case of choosing a mate, I actually took my mothers advice. those of you who were aware of my relationship with my mother would be surprised by this revelation. after all, the governing factor over most of my important decisions in my life is to ask myself "what would Elsie do?" and then do the exact opposite!
however, in this case it made more sense than anything else I had heard.
She told me to marry the one that made me laugh. She had always considered me a serious and solemn person (I never had the heart to tell her that she was the one that made me solemn), so it was her feeling that I needed more laughter in my life. so,  as you might have already guessed, the one who made me laugh the most, was Max. In fact, I think that it was the first time that I had shared an extraordinary amount of laughter with anyone in my life.

When we were first dating, a very sappy love story movie came out with the song "you light up my life". as silly as it sounds, that is what Max did---He lit me up. the man goes to extraordinary lengths to make people laugh. he is a consummate practical joker, and the extent of what he will go through to bring about a joke is mind boggling. when his best friend was getting married, he wanted to get him a "special" present". Max had always told this particular joke" a dog walks into a bar with a bandage on his paw and carrying guns. the bartender intrigued asks the dog what is he doing there. to which, the dog answers-- I have come for the man who shot my paw!" Max's friend Jerry, got him to tell that joke and giggled over it every time. So, for Jerry's wedding gift he had me dress up and photograph our dog, Phoebe. (who did not share Max's sense of humor) He blew the picture up, put the caption on it, framed it and wrapped it. (I called the bride in advance to apologize and sent a proper gift!)
needless to say the picture was a hit. it was this kind of sweet laughter that made me fall in love with Max. however, it would be a lie to say that the last 35 years have been all laughter; there have been more than enough tears to fill up a pool; but, with that said, there has also been enough laughter to wash them away.
looking back, I suppose it is why Connor is such an optimist and Jarrett thinks we are "ridiculous." When a devastation such as being told that your child will never walk occurs in your life, there will be more than enough tears and sorrow. if you dwell on that, your partner and you will never get anywhere. but, if you can find some humour, somewhere, anywhere, the road together is much less bumpy. there were many times and events where it would have been so much easier to puddle, frozen with grief, but what kind of message would that have sent to our children. That we were sad about our family, about our son.
Some people have told us that we are "inspirational" how we have stayed positive. Me, I see it as a survival technique. after all, how could Connor be accepted by the rest of the world if his own parents couldn't be cheerful. I will admit that sometimes our humor would be considered off-colour at best and down right inappropriate at the worst. but, it was what got us through everything and as long as we didn't offend each other, that was all that mattered. I am sure at sometimes, some people would have thought we were insane, where actually, our joking and teasing were what were keeping us sane!
So when Connor, or anyone else asks me about who they should marry, I answer with another question" Do they make you laugh." you will spend enough of your life crying, you better find someone who keeps your laughing. Forget the soul mate, look for laughter.

do moral guys really die broke

My Husband takes morality to a whole new level. it can be downright annoying. Both of us being raised in households where "doing the right thing for the sake of doing it" was almost unheard of, I find it hard at times to reconcile where all this morality came from. My father was a  used car salesman, and while he did not fulfil  all of the stereotypical requirements of that role, he was also not the most moral of people. I would say he walked on the fine line between crooked and straight. He never set out to hurt people but he also lived high and wanted to make sure that fortune favoured him. Max's father is know to bend every rule in the book and has left a long line of decimation behind him; so, I suppose when Max decided that he would do everything opposite from his father, he felt the need to walk the straight and narrow to a whole new level. as a result, he has never cheated on anything, never misused the system, never lied to make extra money and is well known as a "straight up" guy. I know that this is something that any woman should be proud of, indeed boast about and for the most part I do. however, very occasionally, I do wonder if the universe somehow has things very messed up.
the biggest Karmic mess that i have noticed in our lives is the financial fall out from following all of the rules, specifically in how it affected our ability to care for and provide for our sons over the years. indeed, how it still affects our ability to provide for our sons  and each other. Let me explain: financial assistance to persons with disabilities is based on income. when it is a child, it is based on the parents income. the government system encourages parents to either quit their job, divorce/separate from each other, lie about their income or simply go almost bankrupt trying to provide for their family. One government worker, when i questioned the logic of this plan, told me that I was choosing how I was raising my family. I told her "yes, I was choosing to work and put food on the table and not raise my son in a tent!" the fallout from this medical funding model can be devastating. I don't even have to exaggerate to make my point. I knew of at least 2 families that lost their homes, 1 couple that got a divorce on paper and 2 families who gave up their child to foster care. the irony of that is that the government pays $1800 a month to foster parents as well as paying for all of the equipment, braces and medical needs. supposedly, it evens itself out because if you spend the money, you should be able to claim it on income tax. unless, you happen to live in the no-mans land known as the middle class. I don't need to tell you where we ended up; not being able to claim a single thing and paying for it all out of pocket. my main argument with this philosophy was that it was based on MY income, not Connors'. after all, I would not have been buying all of the equipment and braces and having Dr.s appointments if Connor was able bodied.
still, we stuck to the moral high ground, believing that we were teaching our children that it was the right thing to do. over the years, we managed creatively to keep a roof over their heads, celebrate holidays and even take the occasional family vacation. I worked permanent nights while Max worked during the day. Sometimes I would work a second job to make sure that we would have enough money, believing that all good things come to those who wait.

Over the years it has become more and more difficult to support this morality; after all we have been waiting a long time!. While we followed the rules and almost have drowned in debt, co-workers, friends and even family members have worked the "system" to their advantage. While Max refused to entertain ideas of charity or inheritance, others had no such compulsions and racked up quite the savings account. while he would never take money "under the table" or pad his income tax return, while others would boast about how they bested and cheated the system.
this morality went so far as to refuse even the slightest bit of help or charity for Connor such as a fundraising dance or golf tournament. so instead, we went to fundraisers for other people. not for disabled people mind you, for over indulged suburban kids in various kinds of sports so that they could stay at Holiday Inn's instead of Econo lodge!
I  assumed that once Connor was in university and of the age of majority that the inequities would end. however, I could not have been more wrong. OSAP, scholarships and bursaries are all based on financial need; included in that assessment is the parents income and, you guessed it, based on their funding model, Connors parents made too much money. It was about this time that I wished I had of gotten the faux divorce so at least I would not have to put Max's income on the application. Instead, other students, who's parents did not worry about their consciences bothering them, lied on the applications and got the funding. We on the other hand have redone our Mortgage twice since Jarrett and Connor started university.
In 1984, Max and i enjoyed a movie called "Garbo Talks". a son was trying to find Greta Garbo for his mother. it was the mothers life long dream to see Garbo in person. in one part of the movie the son asks his wife for some money, which he knows she has. she answers him "touch the principle! that is like spitting on God". we have never forgotten that line, mostly because so many people seem to give you reason to believe that they are like the wife character. they have the money for their child's education, for sports, to be able to help the people in need, yet they would rather cheat the system out of some money instead.
So although I know that Max is right and it is better to live a moral and ethical life and that I am glad we can tell our children that we did it together with no ones help, just once, I would like to have had some of the principle to touch. after all, at this point, our oldest son just thinks that we are bad with money; not that we just never had any money in the first place.
I believe that we are actually good with money: we have a house, property, two sons that have graduated from their programs and still like to be around us and most of all we have each other and we did it all together, without once cheating or bending any rules or laws.
So as I sit here sipping cold coffee because the microwave took out 2 outlets as it imploded on itself, and I cannot afford to get another one right now because unemployement does not pay enough after knee surgery I do question slightly the wisdom of playing by the rules. they dont seem to get us anywhere. but then again,
perhaps, Max is right. it is better to take the Moral high ground that is straight and narrow, than to cheat the system and risk falling down the bad Karma abyss. But occasionally, I will still fantasise about what it would be like to be given an extra payload of cash and not have to work so darn hard for it!

sleeping the day away

I  resent sleeping. it always seems to be a waste of time. somehow, just before I am ready for bed, I remember all the things that I had wanted to accomplish that day. those tasks and thoughts crowd out any possibility of drifting off to sleep. Instead, I spend more hours than I care to admit, trying to solve the problems of the world. as a veteran night shift worker, my body has become quite accustomed to going without sleep.  My husband  is of the opposite opinion of mine; he loves sleep, more than most other things in his life.Indeed, Max will tell you that pretty much any problem that you have is either cause by lack of sleep or can be cured by having a nap . If I had a cold, headache, foot pain, anything, it was because I had not gotten enough sleep. If I was angry because he left the kitchen in a mess, forgot to take out the garbage, forgot my birthday, it was not because he was at fault; it was because I had worked night shift, making me over-tired and cranky. the advice was always the same: go have a nap.
Before we had children, I thought that this theory of his was simply a way of deflecting blame in husband and wife spats. I was wrong. our children will tell you that no matter what was wrong in their lives he would tell them the same thing: you need to get more sleep. Girl trouble, boy trouble, school trouble, all could be cured by getting to bed by a decent hour or sleeping in a few mornings.
what is truly spectacular about Max's sleep theory is how he practices what he preaches. the man can sleep anywhere! laying down, sitting up, in a chair, in a bed, hammock or chair; give him a pillow and a sunbeam and the man will be snoring within 2 minutes. I have seen him fall asleep while reading and still hold onto the book while removing paint off the walls with the chainsaw noises that emanate from him as he goes off to lala land. if there was a Guinness book of world record for the most unusual places to fall asleep, Max would win. I have even found him asleep in the bathtub. You simply have to admire something like that!
when we were first together, I resented his "sleep theory"; however, over the years, I have come to admire and appreciate it. after all, it works in kindergarten. the teacher would put down the mats, have everyone curl up for an hour, and wake up refreshed and ready to learn for the rest of the day. Whole countries have embraced the concept with siestas and closures from 2-4.
So although, I resent the time that I waste needing to sleep, I do believe that this is one area in which my husband might be wiser. the world might be a better place if we all just curled up every day and had a nap. Maybe, the problem of the many factions that cannot get along is nothing more than that they are cranky from not sleeping enough. instead of soldiers, and war and fighting, we should give them a snack, put down the blankies and make them have a nap. when nap time is over, they would have a new perspective, be able to use their words and at least try to get along. it probably wouldn't work, but then no one ever got hurt from having a nap.

as for me, I will continue to spend way to much time trying to fall asleep instead of actually sleeping, and listening to the rhythm of my husbands breathing as he succumbs to his great cure all: a bit of extra sleep.

Surprises--I prefer predictable or Predictable: one of the best qualities

Recently, our neighbours family had a surprise birthday party for her. it was a lot of fun and she seemed genuinely happy that we had all gone to the effort to make a special surprise for her. gratefully, on my 50th birthday, my family knew better. I do not consider surprises a good thing and I have had way to many of them in my lifetime to confirm this theory.
My father was the master of surprises. I do not remember him having a job for more than 4 years. Indeed, most of the time he only lasted one year, only to come home and tell my mother that he had quit his job for one reason or another.I think the most colossal of his surprises was the mothers day that he drove us to Baldwin, Ontario, under the pretence of "buying" my mother a lovely antique wash set for their room. In fact, we were there to look at a piece of real estate that he wanted to invest in. that in itself is not surprising; the fact that the real estate was an airport! that was surprising! As a 14year old, I could not understand why my mother was not ecstatically happy over this idea. As a wife and mother, I owe her an apology. I would have killed my husband for something like that. Sadly, it wasn't until quite late in his life that we came to the realisation that he was actually, bi-polar and that it was the reason for most of his erratic behaviour. this would have explained much had we known when he was younger.
When it came time to choose my own mate for life, I knew one thing: I wanted predictable. No surprises! I wanted to know what my husband would do in any situation and not have to worry about being surprised. I had survived enough surprise and drama for an entire lifetime in the first 20 years of my life. I did not require anymore.
Max is as solid as a rock, both in body and spirit and I am happy to report that there have been very few things that he has surprised me with. Many might describe this as boring; however, I consider predictability one of his best qualities. Both Max and myself had childhoods with very few predictable outcomes, and while his stolid behaviour may bore some women who crave adventure and excitement, I have come to depend on that predictability more than anyone could ever know.
However, life on its own will throw you a few of those surprises; one of which is having your child diagnosed with a disability. I must say, even I who had known max for 14 years by the time we were told Connors prognosis, was not sure how he would have reacted to being told that his son would never walk, never run, never play hockey.
I wasn't sure, but, I should have known better. Max, solid and strong, found a way for Connor to walk, run, climb rocks, swim, do Jujitsu, play music and yes, even play hockey. In fact, Connor scored more goals in Electric Wheelchair hockey than Jarrett did in Ice hockey!
What I could not have predicted was how well Max did it all. He had no experience with the disabled or the sick. His life had been spent in sports competition. to say that Max's family are competitive sports nuts would be an understatement. For him to be given the task of raising a severely physically disabled son compares to a music teacher having a deaf child. But, predictable is one of his qualities and he rose to the challenge.
I am grateful that although we were surprised by Connor's diagnosis, and in fact, by everything Connor has done since then, that when I chose my spouse, I knew that surprises were not a good thing. That the safe, solid, predictable man was the one to go for. after all, Connor has given us more than enough surprises over the years to deal with, as well as, I am sure, many more to come.

For now, I am sticking with predictable, it is Max's best quality!