No Rainbow Unicorns Found Here Today

A lot of what has kept me from putting personal stuff out here is the nature of some of my thoughts.  I don't want to come across as complaining, nor as a "Negative Nellie", however sometimes things are not always rainbow-coloured unicorns pooping out golden leprechauns.  As much as I would like that to happen, somehow it just doesn't.  (Which is probably for the best because that sounds painful.)

The rational view is that life is a mix of the two, or even somewhere on the great bell curve of life that falls between disaster and the above-mentioned unicorn.

That was today.

Aside from the traditional Mother's Day festivities that somehow always seem to involve me getting the boy to pick out his favorite things to do and then spending the whole day doing that, unpleasant things creep in.  The one that has me most uncomfortably saddened is the quality of some of my neighbours in this community.  Apart from the great neighbour right-next-door who is kind and helpful and pleasant, that is.

Today the windstorm blew my patio umbrella over.  I know, I know; first-world problems.  Not a big deal.  Not even a big deal that it broke.  What upset me was as I was struggling to upright the umbrella and it's 30 pound weighted base from where it was wedged under the deck to perch it back up over a 5 ft deck railing, one family of neighbours was walking past, saw me struggling, and kept going.  On their way over to visit another neighbour 2 doors down.  Both families with whom we used to hang out but who have been, over the past 6 months, pointedly leaving us out of the neighbourhood potluck get-togethers.  Our kids all play together.  We used to have coffee together, and dinners together, and help each other out.

Now – nothing.

Not a word.  Not a helping hand.  Nothing.

It's as if I don't exist to them.  And I have yet to find out what I did that was so horrible that they want nothing to do with us.

I tried really hard to be friendly.  (Not so easy for a socially awkward, not to mention very shy and timid introvert.)  I introduced one family to another, overcoming much resistance and apathy to meeting on both sides.  Just to be clear, it was more coaxing on my part than pushiness.  I drank more coffee than I would have liked because drinking coffee was their thing, and keeping my insulin level under control is easier with less caffeine.  I started drinking alcohol again with them even though I felt better off it, because drinking alcohol, and lots of it, was their thing,  And apparently I was more fun when I drank.  And I'm apparently weak enough to fall to pressure.

Today, I just don't feel a part of this neighbourhood.  I don't feel that I fit in.  (And I'm way too old to be feeling this way.)  Unfortunately it's easy to let it bother me.  Having a real friend close by would make all the difference, but I don't.

As much as I had a great time going to the skatepark, twice, with my little scooter-head, bowling and pizza (we cheated on our diets today), and finally to the ice cream parlour (did I mention the dietary cheating?), I'm left feeling a little sad.

Reading what I'm writing here, I realize what I'm actually sad about goes beyond neighbours being rude and unneighbourly ... is that I let this ridiculous situation bother me.  I'm sad that I let these neighbours – who clearly don't like me for who I am and push me to do what I'm not comfortable doing and won't accept me if I don't – affect me this way.  I'm sad that I'm not stronger and tougher with thicker skin.  I'm beyond sad lately; I'm pathetic.  I've let this bother me for too long.  This has been a monkey on my back all winter, and a reason for part of the Blahs that I'm trying to shake off.

As I watch our other neighbour, the nice one, put his house up for sale because of issues he's also having on this street (ones that so far have not gone away despite his efforts), I'm thinking maybe he's on to something...

Chaos and Renewal

So.

Much has in fact been happening here.  And more is destined to happen.  Because that's the way life is... it goes on.

First off.  A major disappointment this winter.  I was all set to acquire the amazing new Canon 6D... something I've been craving for some time since I first heard about it last summer.  But.  (Of course there's a but.  There's always a but.) The cat needed major surgery and the car needed silly things like new tires and alignments and other such extravagances.  Apparently, here in Canada, you sometimes want frivolities like treads on your tires to stay on icy roads.  Whatever.

So.  The camera stays safely in the camera shop.  And I stay safely the exact same amount poorer AND camera-free.

But the cat's happy and so is the driver of the car.

Continuing working with the old camera I have (while I save up again) can be a good thing.  I will start improving again and become a better photographer with what I have and when I get the 6D I will be awesome.  Isn't that nice to imagine?

I discovered a couple months ago that I really haven't made the best use of my camera.  I think I was looking forward to the new one too much, and I kinda gave up on the old one.  I didn't take as many pictures as I should have.  I've missed out on a lot.

Christmas itself was a mess... the dad had the stomach flu (we had already gone through THAT a couple weeks before and were already recovered), but I had many distractions at Christmas, and I did not bring out my camera even once.  Not at all.  Not when family was here, or at Christmas eve or Christmas morning.  Nothing.  Bad me.  Bad bad bad me.

When the family was here (brother, sister and their spouses), it was hectic and chaotic and busy.  First, there were delays and some people were late.  Then there was a (sort of) oven fire when the element burnt out in the middle of preparing the roast bird.  We actually kept the bird cooking on the stovetop while the men ran out to the next town (!) to get the only element available for our stove in a 200 kilometre radius.  Yes, at least Maytag has a parts tracking service.  (By the way, that's why the Maytag repairman on television is so bored with nothing to do... you do it yourself!  Not a fan of Maytag.  Not even close.)  But peace and joy reigned for the Christmas dinner and the bird was roasted and delicious.  And then we rushed off to the boy's hockey game... which turned out to be not a game, but a family skate because of the holiday.  Who knew?  But of course, the camera lay forgotten who-knows-where and now my shame is made public.

So.  This brings me to a goal for this year.  There will be no resolutions.  I once made a resolution to never make new years resolutions so I have to abide by that resolution.  Ironic, eh?  There will be no 365 commitment, because I'm lazy and undisciplined.  As that's part of my personal charm, I must not tinker with it because that's all I've got going for me.  So, um, the goal.  I plan to take more photos.  That's all.  I will try to do it daily, but not stress if I can't.  After all, life does have a ... life ... of it's own and the unpredictable will inevitably happen even when I try to predict it.



That's all.  But that's enough.

And I will try to post more here.  More than once a month, which it appears is the most I got to last year.  Not much of a goal, but still something.  After all it's about baby steps.

And I do have words.  Lots of them to say, and it appears as if they're ready to be released on their own into the wild.

As does the boy.

For The Fear Of...

I'm a fraidy-cat. This is not news.

This is fact.

People are motivated by either fear or anger, I've heard. That is, the emotion that fuels their energy and drives them onward. Neither is particularly healthy, but this is the theory that I've heard.

I'm full of both. I've got enough personality to fill a minivan, but I'm scared to show it.

I'm scared of most things. Typically this means change and people. Mostly people. But also change. I also have trouble making decisions. Particularly decisions regarding people. And change. I tend to weigh pros and cons and over-think and analyze until I'm blue in the face. Does it work? Surprisingly, yes. But deliberating too long has also made me miss out on some suh-weet opportunities that I've kicked myself over and over about later. I've also experimented with the impulsive side of things, for balance you know, and I can tell you from experience: FAIL. But that's not what this is about. This is about being scared.

We moved to a new province about nine months ago. I went through some adjustment phases with people, from trying really hard and talking to complete strangers (I'm terribly shy) with limited response to the opposite side of hiding in my house for weeks and only coming out to take Evan places and support his social development. He is truly what has kept me going. And see? I'm all about balance. I try different approaches to find out what works. Not surprisingly, hiding out in the house doesn't add to one's social life. It also tends to drive one nuts. Particularly when paired with a rather energetic preschooler who wants to know EVERYTHING about EVERYTHING.

But back to the point: I'm afraid of rejection from people. So, I stopped reaching out. I stepped back. I focused on other things: I spent time with my favorite tv shows. I got a job. I took pretty pictures. And I read and read and read books. None of that really solved the problem, but it distracted me.

Cut to today: Today was a new experience for me. There were people -- real actual people, people I invited over -- visiting me and my boy, for the first time since we moved here. I'm talking, non-family, non-photography related people. After they left, I had a faintly uneasy feeling... something a bit off... that made me analyze the afternoon. Some reflection led me to realize that the weird feeling was that I wasn't nervous or anxious while they were here. That doesn't happen. Ever. Anxiety, particularly social anxiety, has been such a part of my life for so long that I had to stop and wonder if I had taken a valium... I was that relaxed.

It helped immensely that I had cleaned my house for two days before the visit, because usually I don't care about the dust bunnies but I've found out other people do. (Is it a bad thing when someone says that my house makes them twitchy because it's so dusty?) It also helped that my son displayed remarkable maturity for his four years and didn't fuss about sharing his toys.

Sharing his friends is another matter. Are all little boys such drama queens?

People came... we ate... kids played... adults chatted... kids got triangulated and cried and redirected... we chatted some more. It was... nice. I haven't had nice in a while.

Of course, I could be imagining things. And the ultimate success of this mission will be determined in seeing whether or not another playdate occurs... or if the other moms talk to me again.

Then again, I could be over-thinking it.

Bells

Here's a quick 'n dirty edit. I haven't done much lately, so this was a cheering way back into it.

After playing around with the settings on the camera, and mainly changing my metering, I think the photos are a little clearer. So I'm a bit more happy.

Here's the SOOC:

And here's the edit.

Not our Christmas card, but cheerful, no? I feel cheered. But maybe it's the season.

**************************

Taken with my Canon Rebel XSi, and edited with PS Elements.

Balance

The wheels clatter on the tiled floor, a harsh sound against the quiet of the morning. "Mom, watch what I can do," my little one states authoritatively as he holds his toy against the top of his barn roof. The rattle of metal on plastic is loud, grating -- the sound more abrasive for the stillness of early day and otherwise peaceful house.

It's not a little boy toy this time, it's a new toy -- a bigger boy toy -- his newest obsession: the fingerboard. He holds it, moves it over toy buildings and books, often flinging it excitedly --carelessly. Racing it. Twisting it, flipping it, he practices the pop, the ollie... balancing the board on the edge, balancing the books together to form the basis for his tricks.... creating.... balancing.

* * * * * * *

Patience is slow to come in the morning. Calm and peace are broken suddenly yet gradually with the first touch that startles me into waking: "Mom, I'm hungry." Routine tasks take over and I'm grateful I don't have to think about what to do... a morning snuggle, getting up, making breakfast, pouring water for tea... a pleasant groove to start the day. Louder, more animated now, Evan finishes breakfast and starts playing. Light and motion move more quickly as he gains momentum.

The day is filled with a certain monotonous acceleration... "Mom, look at this," "Mom, watch me," "Mom, see what I can do,"... and I wonder when science will catch up with motherhood and start actualizing the cloning process so that I can really be all that he wants and needs.

I'm dizzy now, needing to catch my breath, needing to slow down this brilliant flash of light and sound I call my son.

A cricket on speed: he rushes through each day, moving from neutral to 5th gear and taking off in a race against childhood, seemingly aiming for adolescence. Teens... he's fascinated by teenagers, intrigued and in awe... he wants so badly to be one. He's four, and yet the only thing that sets him apart from the teenager he might become is his physical presence. 42 inches tall, he moves with assurance and purpose, confident in his knowledge and experience, loud and lovely, ready to take on the world and share and teach. Cocky, he brushes past what he does not know as if it doesn't exist.

And he doesn't stop talking. Each moment is described at his leisure, the ceaseless commentary scripts each act in this headlong venture he creates moment to moment. Sounds, often senseless scatting that blends into the background music of today; tuning it out it becomes one with the growl of road construction machines down the street.

Impetuous, the reality he lives in exists for everyone, if only they could see it. He's a boy -- rough and certain in many things, unaware of what he does not know, inattentive to words and motions and all the other flashes of light and sound around him.

He exists and that is enough.

He is a boy, but there's much of the baby lying beneath the mask of maturity he tries to wear.

The hugs and kisses and confirmation of my love he seeks constantly. The unquestioned assistance he waits on. He does what he does and knows that I am there for him. As a mother? A servant? A friend? It all becomes one in a mishmash of expectations and the demands of a day.

The quiet I long for, the studied movement and deliberate thoughtful motions in time are difficult to create. Stop -- breathe. More eating, less talking. Use your words, please. Just relax -- take your time. Please wait a minute. The lines in my script, repeated often -- continually flowing from my lips in a rehearsed recitation that marks my time.

Deep breaths, centering... gathering my thoughts preparing for the next wondrous onslaught of words and activity. This fruitless exercise, pacing myself, trying to help him pace himself -- relax, take your time... There is little time left before I'm caught in the next rushing current ... I hear him racing around again... already... pounding feet across the floor upstairs as the next thing catches his erratic attention.

Breathe. Just breathe.