Should, Must and Losing Yourself

I was a little shocked to find out that my last post was the end of August. I'd like to say that it was due to having lots of work, but really, I lost my Muse. I've been buried in the "shoulds" "musts" and "need to" and I've lost myself in the process.

Like any woman who has both young children and elderly parents, I've been doing a lot of juggling. My mother, who just turned 84, is healthy and lives on her own. She doesn't drive anymore so trips to the library, the bank, for haircuts and other errands get coordinated into my day. My daughter is only in school two days one week and three days the next, so I try to get my errands done on the school days. Days spent on errands are days not spent on job writing.

My mother in law is fighting an inevitable battle with metastatic cancer. It's robbed her of mobility, appetite, breath and dignity. For a woman as private as my mother in law, having a stranger help to bathe her has been very difficult for her. I'm trying to support my husband, my brother in law and my father in law, while gently preparing my daughter about the reality that sometimes sick people don't get better. I put my own sadness on the backburner, because I need to be strong for my family. I cry in private, or in a safe place like church, where it somehow seems okay to cry. It's a good thing I'm a funeral cantor: nobody thinks it odd to see someone crying at a funeral, and I cry when I see other people crying.

And then there was my cousin Murray. We found out in June that he was in total liver failure. He died August 23. Although I e-mailed him, I chickened out and couldn't pick up the phone to call him after I found out about his health situation. Murray was a kind, gentle soul and I'd made him cry before when we talked about his son, Allie. I knew I couldn't be strong talking to Murray when I was so devastated about the news, so I took the coward's way out and e-mailed him instead. Now I'll never hear his gravelly voice saying "I love you" again. He's left a pretty big hole in our lives. We didn't see each other very often because of life circumstance, but I knew that if I ever really needed him, he'd be on the next plane. He was a brother of my heart and I miss him, even though we didn't talk often, I knew I could. I miss that.

And although it was for the best, I miss my little black cat, Max. He was my constant companion during the day, always needing to be where I was. To this day, when I pull out a kitchen chair, I have expect to find a little black face popping out from under the tablecloth to inquire why I'm moving his bed. He was only a cat, but he was a good, loving cat and a good companion.

I'm mired in "musts" today. I must follow up on delinquent payments. I must come up with some story ideas so that I can earn money. I must revamp my website, I must find my brave and get better at self marketing so that I can build my business. I must read last week's submission for the critique group, even though it's ridiculously long. I must find the perfect cake to bake for what will probably be my mother in law's last birthday on Sunday and I must bake it on Friday because I'm away all day Saturday at a conference. I must book haircuts for my mom and daughter. I must figure out dinner. I must go to the memorial mass at church tonight for all the people whose funerals I sang at this year. I must wash the dishes, help my daughter with homework, figure out an approach that works in dealing with a teacher that we're having concerns with (and kindergarten is too young for this crap) and I must feed the 19 year old tabby who is yowling in the kitchen.

And then there are the "shoulds": I should revise my YA novel, taking into account feedback I've received. I should figure out an outline for the non-fiction book, and see where the gaps are. I should do NaNoWriMo because that seems to be the only way I get fiction writing done. I should work on a picture book text for the critique group.  I should finish flipping my winter and summer clothes. I should lie down and get some rest so that I can shake this infection that is lingering on and on. I should do some knitting and finish the horse sweater while it still fits my daughter. I should put on a load of laundry, clean a floor of the house, work in the garden, go for a walk with my daughter on a cold but clear fall day even though my hip has been locking badly and it will hurt.

And I can't seem to do any of these. My emotional well is empty and I'm wondering why I ever thought I could successfully work from home. All the old doubt demons are muttering around me, making me question my abilities and my professional self worth. I'm juggling like crazy, but still dropping balls.

Somehow, I need to find my Muse again. I need to do something that is only for me, that will nourish and sustain my being in the hard days ahead. I need to be a little selfish and steal some me time. I've forgotten to take care of me in the midst of all the musts and shoulds. But first, I need to make a pot of tea and do some homework with my little girl.

Wii "stuck in neutral" update.

I haven't reported in on the Wii Fat to Fit lately, because there isn't anything new to report. I'm still doing the Wii consistently. On the days that I walk my daughter to and from school, I don't do the Wii. My knee is slowly getting back to normal, but I'm not going to push my luck. Unless it's torrential rain (or picture day, kid wearing dress and I want to keep it nice until she gets to school) we walk.( I'm not looking forward to snowpants. On either of us.)

I'm struggling and I guess I'm a bad, mean-spirited person. My husband has been working his butt off, literally, doing Wii Active and following Weight Watchers. He's lost 28 lbs so far, is toning up, dropping pant sizes and looking great. I am really proud of how hard he is working, and I support and applaud his results.

But here's the thing. He obsesses...a little. I'm really proud of his accomplishments...but it makes it harder for me to keep going because nothing is happening on my end. I do not sit at home and eat all day, even with my self-confessed Skittles obsession. We eat the same dinner. On weekends, we eat the same everything. I either walk or do Wii every day. He's losing. I'm not. At this rate, my BMI will be higher than his soon. Sometimes, when he's going on and on and on about how his jeans are too big, the frying pan looks tempting as I envision the target upside his head. He's struggled with body and self esteem issues for years, and I'm happy to see him taking pride in his appearance. He's a wonderful, caring person and I'm happy he's starting  to see what the rest of the world sees.His success shines a light on my failure, and sometimes I just want to scream "shut up already, you insensitive boob."

I am currently on a medication known to cause weight gain, and I haven't gained anything. I have medical issues that wreak havoc on the hormones and make my body think it has thyroid issues when it doesn't. Last winter I was so anemic I almost passed out driving the car and dizzy was my normal state of being. These are all facts. I haven't gained any weight, so intellectually I understand that the work that I'm doing on the Wii is probably preventing that. People who haven't seen me in awhile think I look slimmer. The fit of the clothes hasn't changed-the 1 cm that I have lost in my waist isn't having a significant impact.

I wanted to weigh less before my surgery in January, and that is looking less and less like it will happen. I'm discouraged, despondent and wondering why I'm still doing this to myself. I hope that the surgery will rectify a number of things, and will definitely eliminate the meds.

I'm discouraged at the same 2 lbs up and down, up and down. I'm discouraged that adding even 1 exercise back in right now stresses the knee, throws the pelvis out and causes me pain for the rest of the day. I'm discouraged that my husband is disappearing before my eyes, and I'm stuck in neutral. Do I always make the best food choices? Of course not, who does, but I make good choices most of the time. Skittles and poutine were on my menu this week-it was a rough week-but I was down on the Wii this morning.

So why continue? The answer is my 4 year old daughter, currently at the ice rink. I'm 46. I need to stay healthy for my daughter. She is the motivation for my husband as well.She asks me if I've done my workout. She's disappointed when we don't walk (or in her case run) to school. She's busy and active and learning to be physically fit. She sees mom and dad taking care of themselves and learning by example. I'm watching my self talk so that she doesn't hear it. She will be tall, and will have enough to deal with being the tall girl in the class.

I will continue, because quitting is not an option.I will keep stepping on the board, cringing at being called "obese" and going through the motions...but my heart's not in it anymore.

Not Another Day-the Life Intervenes Update

I've fallen off the wee Wii this past week. For the first time since July, I went 4 consecutive days without pulling out the Balance Board. Why?

• My knee hurt. My knee hurt a great deal. I am now walking my daughter (barring torrential rain although we did do that one morning) to and from school on the days that she goes, and I need to be able to do that. If the knee hurt, I didn't Wii.
  
• We painted our kitchen for 3 days this past weekend. While I opted for the high parts so that I would be standing upright rather than crouched, 3 days up and down the stepladder, paint roller and brush in hand constituted a workout in my books.
• I didn't want to. There's the truth. I lost my motivation because I'm not seeing results. I know that part of it is medication which has a side effect of weight gain. The fact that I haven't gained weight is a good thing. I haven't lost any either. It's hard to stay motivated without tangible results, especially when I share the house with a man who has lost 24 lbs and counting doing basically the same things that I'm doing.
  
• I was drumming up business, and that was a higher priority than the tree pose.
• I dug out the Balance Board this morning, and managed to do 20 minutes before the knee complained. It's a start. I'm not going to push any more because pain is not a good thing. I don't care if the wee Wii chastises me for being away for 4 days. I needed the time away to re-focus. So suck it up, little balance board, I'm doing the best I can.
  

Not Another Day-Update

Here's the Fat to Fit update.

Sometimes, life smacks you upside the head and reminds you of what is important. This was one of those weeks. I sang at 2 funerals, and heard catastrophic news about someone younger than me who had a heart attack a week ago but no history of heart problems, is currently in Intensive Care on a ventilator and is a single mom to a fabulous young man who has to start school with his mom in the hospital. Instead of starting school with anticipation and excitement, he's living with his grandparents and starting school with worry.

Another friend of mine is also dealing with terminal illness in her family.

In the face of that, my fat ass doesn't matter.

• I missed a couple of days of workout this week because my hip was cranky and the knee didn't appreciate extra reps of the squats. Because of the other commitments in my life this week, some of the workouts were abbreviated, but I did the best I could manage.
  
• We de-constructed my daughter's bunk bed, so I was pulling and hauling on mattresses and other things.
• The kid and I practiced walking to school one day this week, and then went to the park and walked home. We also walked all over the market and a couple of shopping malls.
  
• I've logged 37 hours on Wii Fit since I started and I can now do decent Jack knife exercises. I can almost touch my toes without bending my knees, which for my stiff muscles is a major accomplishment.
  

The weight is all over the map and I'm still not seeing any difference in the fit of my clothes, but other people are.

My daughter now asks me daily if I've done my workout. She asks if daddy has done his. Occasionally, she will do the yoga poses with me and loves to "race" with me when I'm able to do the run. We're leading by example and that's a good thing. We have our challenging, funny, stubborn little girl and we're getting healthier for her. At the end of the day, and in light of the serious health challenges others of my acquaintance are dealing with, it's enough. It may not be perfect, but it's a start.

Instead of whining about lack of progress this week, I am counting my blessings and sending love and prayers to anyone who is dealing with serious illness. Sometimes life smacks you upside the head and refocuses your priorities. This was one of those weeks.

Not Another Day-Update

Here's the weekly Fat to Fit update.

• Ate my Belgian waffle with strawberries at the CNE. Walking for 8 hours back and forth along the complex more than compensated for it.
• Been dealing with cranky pelvic bones all week. So bad on Tuesday that I had to call husband from driveway to bring out the crutches to get me in the house after the PWAC Guelph BBQ.
  
• Skipped Wednesday workout entirely because I was still crippled and unable to weight bear on right side. Took it easy the rest of the week because it's still dodgy.
• Had a really stressful, emotionally draining week...gave in to poutine...twice. Enjoyed every artery clogging mouthful.
• Opted to watch Senator Ted Kennedy's funeral Saturday morning instead of working out. I made the right choice. What a majestic send-off to such a powerful advocate for the less fortunate, the marginalized and the forgotten.
  
• Poutine and waffle notwithstanding, still no change in fit of clothes, weight on scale or BMI. Standing straighter. That's it.
  
• Added jackknifes to my routine. After the Pilates I've been doing, they were easy.

This was not a great week in Wii land for a number of reasons. I did the best I could around injury, stress and unanticipated driving trips with my mom. I tried. That's all I got this week. I tried.

Not Another Day-Update

Here is the latest Fat to Fit update. Not Another Day.

I took some flack last week about the use of the word "Fat." Many people took me to task for applying the word to my situation. I chose the word for several reasons:

• It makes a nice alliteration.
  
• It's what I see when I look in the mirror, regardless of what the scale says. (Yes, I do. No, maybe I shouldn't but it's what I see.)
  
• It's what the Wii Fit Balance Board tells me every morning. Actually, it says "that's Obese" which is just a fancy way of saying fat.
  
• According to a couple of on-line dictionaries I checked, alternative meanings include "plump", "obese". The word stays.

It's been a tough week in Wii Fit land. I actually missed a day of workout for the first time since I embarked on this little journey on July 13. I had to take my car in for service at the time I normally work out. By the time I got back, it was too humid and my asthma had kicked in and I was dizzy, woozy and likely to fall off the Wee Wii board if I'd tried to push through. It wasn't safe, it wasn't healthy...and the wee Wii still gave me grief the next morning for missing it.

In the quest to tone and tighten, (read, pushing past my common sense limitations of previous injuries) I reinjured a couple of things from my ballroom dancing days. I have managed to annoy my right knee to the point where running and the advanced step are out of the question some days, even if I only step up 3 inches. Running barefoot on hardwood has not been good for my knee, either (although it's been good physio for the foot I broke in the spring). The three middle toes on both feet go numb within minutes of being on the Wii Balance Board. Because I'm working out barefoot, I'm stressing the arches, which stresses some nerve around the toes which gets mad and goes numb. It's hard to hold a decent tree pose when your toes are freaking numb.

I've only managed to lose a grand total of 3.5 lbs since July 13. My husband is following Weight Watchers and doing either Wii Fit or Wii Active every morning. He has lost 15 lbs and who knows how many inches, but enough that it's noticeable. His pants are actually belted and sitting where they are supposed to on his waist, instead of tucked under the "tummy overhang."

While I am not following Weight Watchers, I have been very careful about what I am consuming so that I can trim calories and support him. He has always been able to wash the weight off in the shower when he puts his mind to it. I know that. I've lived it. I've seen it. Intellectually I understand that but it burns my butt when I'm working so hard and consistently. (Although in fairness to him, so is he). I had a day last week when I was ready to resign as a parent and ended up substituting suicidal/homicidal thoughts with a DQ Blizzard. (It was Miracle Treat Day anyway-so it was for charity) The next morning, instead of being the same or slightly up on the scale I was down 1.5 lbs (but had gained back 1 lb by the end of the workout...) The morning after I ate ice cream TWICE in a day, and ate Swiss Chalet complete with French Fries (but still no poutine), I reached my goal. I don't understand my freaking body chemistry, although I do know that I can go up as much as 3 lbs overnight. I've gone up 2 lbs in an hourlong workout that did not include stuffing my face.

I've added Pilates into the mix. I'm a singer, so I've already got pretty strong abs. Shocked the crap out of a muscle-head personal trainer one time because I don't look like someone who can do 70 situps in a minute. I can, I have and I did. It was my salvation on the Canada Fitness Award every year when I was a kid. (and the flexed arm hang doomed me to gold every single freaking year but I digress). If Pilates can't tighten the gut, nothing is going to.

I've had to really struggle to continue this week. I'm putting the effort in and I'm not seeing results. Yes, I know, it's Wii Fit, and is limited by the exercises that the Balance Board can track. Yes, I know, I should be at the gym, walking on the road, swimming at the pool, blah blah blah. I can't manage those things right now. Wii Fit I can manage. It may not be Body Bootcamp...but it's more than I've done in 4.5 years.

I know that I have some serious hormonal issues going on that are going to have an impact on my metabolism and subsequent weight loss. One of the meds I'm on right now has a side effect of weight gain, so at least that didn't happen.

I'm counting on stubborn and determined to keep me at this. I need to see some results though. Nothing is changing fit-wise, the scale is moving in glacial intervals downward, and the time is ticking on towards January and the slice and dice. I don't always make the best food choices, but I make much better food choices than I was making 3 months ago. I haven't touched Poutine, for example, although I just about mugged someone for their New York Fries Poutine at the mall the other night when the greasy-cheese scent wafted towards me as the fries were carried by me. Instead, I had really bad Pad Thai and ate half of it. We're going to the Canadian National Exhibition tomorrow, and I WILL be having a Belgian Waffle with ice cream and strawberries. It's one of my must-dos at the Ex and I'm not going to miss it. I suspect I will be walking enough to balance it out...and don't care if I don't. It's a once a year indulgence.

I'm wondering why I'm bothering to continue. Yes, I am setting an example for my daughter by taking care of myself physically. Yes, I know it takes time for results to show. Yes, I know I need to stick with it. Yes I know that I'm seeing incremental improvement in my ability to hold certain poses or do more reps...But doubt and "why bother, it's not working anyway" are creeping into my psyche and it's getting hard to hold them at bay. Couple that with injury, and you have one discouraged little blogger. Sigh.

Voices

I've been hearing voices...no, not the kind of voices that will land me in a psychiatric evaluation but those inner voices that keep me on the straight and narrow, or prevent me from being courageous.

For example, I have been knitting socks lately. I used to knit them, but I hated working with 4 double pointed needles, because I was forever dropping one, or losing stitches off the end or leaving ladders because I could never pull the yarn tight enough at the turn. A few months ago, Nathalie Nasr, one of the singers in the Grand Philharmonic Choir, and one of the fastest knitters I've ever seen in my life, taught me how to do the Magic Loop. Instead of knitting the sock on 4 needles, you knit it on a long circular needle. All of a sudden, I could knit socks: no more dropped stitches, no more dropped needles, and much more portable to throw in my purse and take with me to knit while I wait. I am still learning, however, and when a sock turned out much floppier than it should have, I realized too late that I had forgotten to do the decrease after turning the heel. At first, I tried to pretend that it was fine. Then I tried to felt it to fit. And then I heard the Voice.

Sr. Mary Alfred of Jesus was a nun at Queen of Angels Academy who went to school with Moses, or so it seemed at the time. She taught us needlework, and many's the time I sat in her room, unravelling completed work because it wasn't perfect. Imperfection was not an option. As soon as I tried to settle for "good enough" with that darned sock, Sr. Mary Alfred's voice appeared in my head. "There's no excuse for shoddy work, especially when you can fix it." she would say. I stalled a couple of days longer...and then ripped back the sock and I'm fixing it. I heeded the Voice.

My mother has always been concerned with appearances and apparel. Even when she was working in Ottawa during World War II, earning something like $75 a month, and then paying $40 for room and board, she managed to have her suits and skirts tailored and she wore cashmere sweaters. She didn't have many clothes, but she took immaculate care of them and she folded them very precisely, so that she would always know when her sister had borrowed her clothes, because her sister could never fold the clothes precisely the same way. My mother had definite ideas as to what was appropriate to wear, and she passed those ideas on to her only daughter (who is in turn, passing them on to the kid).

I've struggled with my weight quite a bit the last few years (Not another Day) and not everything fits the way it is supposed to. Sometimes I'm tempted to wear it anyway, and then I hear The Voice. I can clearly hear my mother stopping me halfway down the stairs when I was in high school and marching me back upstairs to put on something a little longer, a little looser, a little less revealing, a little more appropriate to the occasion...a little...whatever. While I have developed my own sense of style, her basic principles still guide me.

Appropriate also translated to maquillage in my mother's world. She wouldn't dream of leaving the house without at least powder and lipstick on. That was hammered into my head from when I was old enough to wear makeup, along with that fine line between being made up and being a clown. I have left the house a few times without makeup this summer, usually to take the kid to a water park where makeup is a hazard because chlorine and mascara are not generally a good combination. I always hear the Voice admonishing me for "letting myself go." Sometimes I shrug and go anyway. Other times, I scamper upstairs and do mascara, blush and concealer....because grooming matters and I want to set a good example.

Other voices are harder to ignore. When I am struggling with self esteem issues, it is the drunken voice of my father telling me that I am stupid, lazy, fat, ugly and a slut. I don't think he knew what the last one even meant, (and I was far from it) but it was hurtful and insulting, and so he used it. When I am struggling with body issues, I hear the voice of the man who molested me when I was 12-13, blaming me for his depravity because I chose to wore a turtleneck sweater that clung a bit to my breasts. It took me years to silence that voice. When I am struggling with professional self doubt, it is the voice of a former boss who did more to undermine and demoralize me in a year than anyone before or since. I was left with no real picture of my worth, my abilities, my value, my intelligence, my integrity or my professional qualifications.

I can often silence or ignore these other voices, but when I am struggling, the task of challenging and blocking them becomes more challenging. I try to replace it with the voice of my Grandma Harvey, who loved her grandchildren unequivocally, but wasn't afraid to kick our butts if she didn't like how we were behaving. We knew without a shadow of a doubt that she loved us with that fierce grandma love. We also knew without a shadow of a doubt that we would not be able to put something over on her. She knew more about the goings-on of her grandchildren than the respective parents did. She listened, she loved us, and then she set us straight.

I'm still trying to develop my own voice-to learn to trust my judgements, my instincts and my abilities and talents. Some days are better than others, but I will get there. I think I will add a new voice-one that I hear frequently from my stubborn and independent 4 year old daughter. "Oh yes I can" she will exclaim petulantly, when she has been advised against taking a certain action or acting in a certain way. I think I need to add a bit of petulant and defiant 4 year old back into my psyche. "Oh yes I can."

So who do you hear? Who is your Voice?

Fat to Fit Update

It's time for another Fat to Fit Update. For those of you not following the playbook, here's the original post. Not Another Day.

• I have not missed a day on Wii Fit yet, including the day when my pelvic bones copped an attitude and locked halfway through Hula Hoop. I still managed to do the Yoga and Strength exercises.
• I have not had poutine, although I was sorely tempted last week.
  
• I average between 45 mins and an hour each day. The minimum I will do is 40 minutes.
  
• I'm not seeing any difference yet, but other people have commented that I look more svelte. Clothes might be fitting a tiny bit looser, but negligible for the amount of freaking effort I'm putting in.
• Definite difference in my centre of balance. This is a good thing since I have wonky hips and pelvis from car accident.
  
• Managed to scrape another pound off my butt. Not going to make the goal for tomorrow of another 2 lbs, without enema intervention, which is not on the option list.
• I have managed to do the Rowing Squats, the Plank and a half-ass Shoulder Stand. I have managed to run for 3 minutes. I don't run; this is an accomplishment.
  
• I'm really discouraged today. Read reviews that Wii Fit is not a valid fitness tool. Watched Hubby do Wii Active-no freaking way I can do the majority of the exercises on it. Lunges and a bad knee are not a good combination.
  

I'm going to keep at it. It's better than nothing. I will be walking small child to school a couple of days a week in a month. The kids around here walk to school. So will Vampira.

Could really go for pizza today. I will be eating salad instead. Sigh.

Not Another Day-Update

It's time for a Fat to Fit update.

Since I posted the Not Another Day blog, I have stuck with it. I have not missed a day on Wii Fit, averaging 45-50 minutes. (with a couple of sessions over 1 hour) I've managed to scrape 2 lbs off my butt(although the hormone gods have spoken today and I was up 1.5 lbs by the end of the 45 minute workout...not likely.) My centre of balance is improving, and my pelvic area hasn't locked up.

My 4 year old daughter is an enthusiastic participant, and so is our black cat. It's tough to do Downward Facing Dog when both cat and kid are lying under the "bridge". It's tough to do the Lotus Focus with said kid leaning on one side and cat chewing watch on the other. My daughter loves to "race" with me and although it's only 5 minutes, I am running. She loves to watch me do the hula hoop and she tries some of the yoga poses. She can do the shoulder stand; momma, not so much. It will come. Or not.

I don't feel any better yet. It's an effort to do this every day. Even when I was really fit and working out with cardio and weights (pre-kid) 6 days a week, I never reached the "buzz" that people talked about. I never got energy from working out. I still don't. It's something I need to do. It's not something that I want to do.

I'm more aware of what I'm eating. My husband is actively following Weight Watchers right now and I'm trying to support him by cooking in a more healthy fashion. I've had a couple of really bad days this week where I medicated with food, but otherwise I've been pretty good. On a day when pizza and Marble Slab ice cream were the alternative to mass homicide, an extra 20 minutes on Wii balanced it out. I might not do that every time I food self-medicate, but I am more aware of what I am doing.

I am not an athlete. I never have been-just check my run down of Olympic events. I used to swim a great deal when I was a kid, I've always loved to dance and once upon a time, I was a competition-level ballroom dancer. I never had a weight problem when I was ballroom dancing. Since I stopped ballroom dancing, my weight and fitness level changed in an inverse relationship.

I may never run a marathon, a triathalon or run around the block for that matter. I haven't ridden a bike that wasn't stationary and parked in front of a television since we left Montreal in 1977, and I don't see it happening any time soon. I don't know if I'll ever manage some of the yoga poses. I'm okay with that. I may never do the lotus position or a shoulder stand. I know I will never be able to do the splits. Never have, never will. I'm okay with that. I'm doing the best that I can, and I'm doing it so that I can keep up with my kid and take better care of me. And that's good enough.

Bitchin' About Business Casual

Next to "team building exercise" and "performance review" I don't think any phrase strikes more terror in my corporate heart than "business casual." I have to pack for a conference, and the skuttlebutt is that the dress will be "business casual." Swell.

I've never been a "suits" person. Suits are tricky when you're built like I am, and I've never found jackets are particularly comfortable. I'm much more a twin sets and sweaters girl. Of course, since I work from home now, "business casual" has taken on a whole new meaning. Some days, it means I managed to get dressed. Other days, it means turtleneck and jeans. When I'm stressed, tired, bloated and on deadline, it means fuzzy sweats. I am the funeral cantor at our church, so I do have some "business-y" clothes, but many of the things that I would have reached for when I worked in an office are out of style, or more accurately, out of size range right now.

This conference is causing many of the women some grief, and since we will all be assembling later this week, a great deal of e-mail traffic, tweets and trading of opinions. Interestingly, it's the women who are worried about it. The silence from the male writers has been deafening. Of course, business casual for men is a bit easier-khakis and a nice dress shirt fit the bill.

There are levels of "business casual" for women. When I worked in the insurance industry, crop pants and capris were against the dress code. I don't know whether that still applies, since it's almost impossible to find anything OTHER than that. Skirts and sweaters, or a nice blouse and sweater with dress pants were considered "business casual". Of course, I wore that almost every day because I didn't like suits and denim of any kind was forbidden.

I have an added challenge this time. I broke a bone in my foot a month ago, and I'm still recovering. Right now, my Birks are the only footwear that fit my swollen foot and that I can wear without excruciating pain. I may pack my leopard slides for the banquet, but for the rest of the time, I will be hobbling around in ugly, yet functional sandals with Velcro to accommodate the bruising and swelling. I am still debating whether to tote the cane or not. It would explain the ugly shoes, at least. I have shoe angst, because I am a shoe harlot. I LOVE shoes. Unfortunately, broken foot and hot shoes are mutually exclusive.

I'm dreading it, but I have to go up and play "I wonder what fits in my closet?" to figure out clothes for the conference. I can't afford to buy anything else new, so what there is will have to do. I hope the weather warms up a bit, though. I will be drawing the line at "socks and sandals". A girl has to maintain some shred of fashionista...I know the black capris are okay, maybe the cute denim skirt and those new jeans don't really look like jeans. Then there's the tops, and the sweaters and I haven't the faintest idea what to wear to the banquet...oh hell, calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean, calm blue ocean...

So what constitutes business casual? I want your point of view.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished.

"No good deed goes unpunished." There's a lot of speculation about who said it first, but I suspect it was someone (probably female) who was dealing with a family and an elderly parent at the same time. I'm feeling a bit like the bug on the windshield today.

My mom is 82 and a baseball fanatic. Specifically, she is a Toronto Blue Jays fanatic. It's a good thing that Cito Gaston has been brought back, because I was becoming concerned about her blood pressure last year when the team was playing so abysmally. This year, there was a delay in the broadcast of the games, and mom was distraught. She couldn't watch "her boys" play.

My mom has basic, plug into the back of the television cable. Since analog will be going to way of the edsel in the not so distant future, I did some checking, and found out that she could subscribe to digital cable for a few dollars more than she was already paying, and have instant access to more channels, and more importantly, more baseball games.

She's been on digital cable since Tuesday. Problem was, she needed to learn a new remote for the system. To say my mom is techno-challenged is like saying that the Titanic had a small leak. Anything new that is technical sends her into a tailspin. I set the system up for her on Tuesday, and synchronized the cable remote with the television so that she would only have to deal with 1 remote. Or so I thought. I've walked her through it twice since Tuesday, and my husband has dropped in to fix it for her once, and will be going there again this afternoon after this morning's phone call.

Phone rings.

Mom: "I can't get the television on."

Lisa: (while smearing almond butter on a tortilla for child's breakfast) "Did you try turning it on and off again?"

Mom: "yes."

Lisa: "what's on the television screen?"

Mom: "02 and snow. I told you I couldn't cope with this and I don't know why you did this."

Lisa: (taking deep breath) "Okay, mom, you've got the television off channel 3. We need to put it back on channel 3. Get the little remote for the television and try putting it on channel 3."

Mom: (after pause) "I have sound now. But I don't have a picture. Why isn't it staying on the channel I left it on? It always used to. I'm too old to cope with this. I don't like it. We're taking it back."

Lisa: (another deep breath) "what does the screen say now?"

Mom: "Aux. 1"

Lisa: "Okay, I know what you did, but I can't see the remote to know how to fix it. Read the buttons on the little remote."

Mom: starts reading buttons.

Lisa: "Mom, I'll have to come over to fix it. I can't see the buttons."

Mom: "Better send Dave. You've done enough."

And so my husband has been dispatched to go solve the television crisis...again.

It's not the first time that something I tried to do to help my mom has come back to bite me in the butt. I'm a fixer by nature. My mom doesn't ask for help often, and doesn't LIKE having to ask for help. She therefore tends to accept it grudgingly. She broke her hip a few ago, and although she stayed in her apt, she needed help. I had just started a new job, and in fact, she broke her hip at my apt when she was over taking care of my cats while I was in Winnipeg on training. When I returned, I was going over every night to cook her dinner and do whatever needed to be done for her. Her best friend came up to stay, and I made a pot roast in the crock pot for our dinner at my apt. I went home, prepared to mix the flour and water for gravy and it exploded all over my kitchen and me. After cleaning up the mess, I finished making the gravy, sliced the roast, arranged the potatoes etc and transported it to mom's house. She had called in the interim because they were hungry and she was wondering where I was. I told her I was cleaning the mess..."I knew you should have cooked it here." was the response. Oh, and I didn't slice the meat nicely...

The digital cable is just another in a long line of things that I didn't do well enough. I suspect the digital cable will be returned this afternoon, and I hope my husband is up for the arguement with Rogers about the fee that may result. I'm staying out of this one. As my mother has said, "I've done enough."

So is it wrong that I try to fix things? Is it wrong that I try to make things better? Is it my expectations that are too high? I just don't know anymore. What I do know is that I'm stressed and upset and feeling discouraged and useless. Time for chocolate.

Late Bloomers...

Michelle Obama, the soon-to-be First Lady of the United States turned 46 yesterday. That means she's a handful of days older than I am. I will be 46 in, well, a handful of days.. She is a lawyer, social advocate, working mother, and about to be co-pilot of the United States (sorry VP-elect Biden...). I am...um...a wife and working mother. I'm a late bloomer.

According to Wikepedia, a late bloomer is:

The term late bloomer has several distinct but related meanings:

• The term is used metaphorically to describe a child or adolescent who develops more slowly than others in their age group, but eventually catches up and in some cases overtakes their peers, or an adult whose talent or genius in a particular field only appears later in life than is normal - in some cases only in old age.

There is a link to other sections of the same article that deals with writers, specifically.http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Late_bloomer#Writing Apparently, it's not uncommon for writers to be "late bloomers" which is comforting, because I'm having a "jeez, I'm almost 46 and what have I done" moment.

This little foray into introspection was triggered, not by Ms. Obama, but by a blast from my very distant past in the form of a fellow Wilder Penfield-ite who had found my website and contacted me. Gary e-mailed me this week. He's been a busy lad since we were classmates at Wilder Penfield in the 1970s. (since I just confessed my real age, there's no point in being coy about when I was in grade school, is there. ) He is now a math prof at the University of Ottawa, publishing papers on topics that baffle me...and cause me to break out in a sweat and hives at the mere thought of formulae...I remembered him immediately, have a vague recollection of a fairly significant crush on him and will now be making a trip to my mom's to look at my old school things that she still has, including class pictures. No, I will not be posting them, unless to prove my assertion that I have always been a geek, I just dress better now.

I am a late bloomer. I started Grade school in grade 1 rather than kindergarten because we moved. Friendships are built in Kindergarten, and my mom, who is very private and still has only a handful of friends she's had since her teens, was not very good at encouraging her painfully shy, introverted, bookloving, solitary and insecure daughter to make friends. I loved school because I loved to learn...but the social aspects of school were torment for me. I especially dreaded that quintessentially female rite of passage...the sleepover...because I was inevitably the kid who fell asleep early (confession time...I didn't fall asleep, I pretended to, and how does that adage go...eavesdroppers hear no good of them...) and was ridiculed and picked on by the other little girls. Little girls can be heartless and cruel. Little boys settle things with fisticuffs; girls use emotional and psychological warfare....calming breath, calming breath...I didn't know how to cope and spent a great deal of time wandering the schoolyard alone, unless I happened to be the girl with the skipping rope...and then I was popular until recess ended.

I started high school in Grade 1o rather than grade 9 because we moved...and I was smart. I attended a private Catholic girls' school in Dorval, QC for grade 7-8 (which is first and second year of high school in QC, because grade 7-11 is high school, and then there is 2 years of CEGEP before university) Queen of Angels Academy was an academic school, an entrance exam was required and the school only accepted 50 young ladies a year...competition for top marks was fierce. I maintained an average in the high 80s. We were exempted writing a final exam in any course that we had over 85% in, and I wrote one final exam (math) in 2 years...and I think even then my average for that subject was in the low 80s. To this day, I remember walking into that class for the final and hearing "Lisa is writing a FINAL?" like I had just posed nude, ran naked through the chapel AND gotten a tatoo. I only had 1 close friend at QAA. I remember walking the corridors at recess and lunch alone...a lot.

When we arrived in Kitchener, I was supposed to start Grade 9. One look at my academic transcript, and the principal bumped me into Grade 10, and Grade 11 for French. The only things that St. Marys and QAA had in common were uniforms, girls-only (then) and Catholic. They were diametrical opposites. It was okay to be smart at QAA-in fact, it was expected. At St. Mary's, the emphasis was more on sports and school involvement, or so it seemed to me. It was not okay to be smart. The all-boys school, St. Jeromes, was across the street, and the schools did silly things like allow the boys to buy flowers on Valentine's Day...and have them delivered to home room. In reality, maybe only 2-3 girls actually got flowers...and 28 of us felt like lowlife scum. (I never got a flower...)I remember my friend Clare got 2 flowers one year...I bet she doesn't remember...but I do.As the words to the song "AT 17" by Janis Ian (1975) so eloquently stated:
"To those of us who knew the pain of valentines that never came
And those whose names were never called when choosing sides for basketball..."

I survived high school...barely. I was suicidal by the end of it. My only salvation was my twin discoveries of theatre and music. I hung out with the "theatre crowd", mainly boys. We were smart, we read (and understood) Thoreau for fun, listened to Springsteen, and didn't really fit in at either school, except with each other. A number of that group are still my close friends.

I found myself in university. I completed my undergrad in French and Political Science (double honours) (and a few years later, my MA in Poli Sci) and found out, especially in Poli Sci, that it was okay to be smart again. Many of my classmates have gone on to become professors, lawyers, successful businesspeople, Hollywood screenwriters etc Poli Sci is not a discipline for the faint of heart, because the future lawyers like to debate...everything. Being able to hold your own in an intellectual debate (although I still make it a point never to get into a battle of wits with an unarmed person...) was essential, and a quick wit and sarcastic take on the world stood me in good stead.

Since university, I have been a customs inspector, French supply teacher, grad student, teaching assistant, manager of a call centre, administrative assistant, collections officer (aka debt collector), customer service representative, legislation analyst, compliance consultant and a writer and editor. If I had been paying attention, I could have skipped straight to the "writer" part, because I started writing when I was about 10 years old, after reading "Anne of Green Gables" and deciding if she could write, so could I. I also remember saying in QAA days that I wanted to be a writer.

Late blooming applies to all aspects of my life. I didn't marry until I was 35, and became a parent at 42, at a time when some of my friends are becoming grandparents. Many of my friends are sending their offspring to university; I'm getting ready to register mine for junior kindergarten. I didn't really learn how to make friends until my 40s. I'm still working on that, and I'm only now accepting the person I am and my unique strengths and abilities.

I can own the label of late bloomer. I am not a lawyer, or first lady or university professor, although in the case of lawyer and professor, it is by choice rather than ability. I had the smarts; I didn't have the inclination. I am a fiercely loyal friend, a daughter, a daughter in law, a wife, a mother, a writer and an editor. I am a singer, a choir member, a crafter, a reader and a creator of books and poems. Maybe it's taken me this long to be comfortable with who I am and to build on it rather than tear it down. If late blooming means that I can use all of that "experience" to write great novels, (and I'm being pulled to write YA novels-all that unresolved teen angst) then so be it. I may bloom late...but bloom I will.