Happy Father's Day

For me, I do not celebrate Father's Day. It just isn't something I do. I don't believe that I am required to show the expected respect that is shown on Father's Day that is due to my own Father because that would mean that he was actually instrumental to me at some point in my life and didn't just trash it like Godzilla. And maybe he was and I'm just forgetting, but I doubt it and I don't remember it. Now as an adult, I'm not forced to play along on some charade, so I don't. And it feels way more authentic to me.

That being said, I have no problem celebrating others Father's Day. And a year from now, my child will be celebrating with his own Daddy. I guess because my bond with my own 'dad' is so screwed up, I worry so much about the bond that my child will have with his/her father. I don't think that I need to worry as much as I do, but because I am a worrier at heart and because I have just cause from my own upbringing - I often wonder how it'll be.

I'm gloomy today, like I am most years. Just yet another reminder of what I didn't have for the majority of my growing up growing up years - the important ones. That I came to terms that I'll never have what I so desperately desired. I was the monkey doing the dance with the cymbals in my hands trying my damnest to be the image of what I thought he wanted me to be. And it's another reminder of the scar that I have from waving goodbye at that pipe dream many years ago. And as much as I think I've completely let it go, part of me will always hope, even if just a little, that I can revert back to my 6 year old self where I actually had a Dad. And I was Daddy's Little Girl. And I felt whole, loved and complete because he loved me in a way I understood love. Now, I'm speaking English and he's off somewhere speaking Klingon and there is no interpreter. And there is way too much water on that bridge for me to consider any sort or type of relationship a possibility.

Sad, isn't it?

~J

Touch of Pink

So today is my last day of work for the year. And it's really weird. Like, really. I'm giving away files, explaining what I'm leaving behind, cleaning off my desk and auctioning off my 4 year collection of really really cool office supplies. My pink stapler, of course, is coming with me. I have history with that thing - it's been my trademark and couldn't care less if it is company property. Bite me Tyco. You don't realize how much stuff you have at work before you're boxing it up and hauling it out to the truck. It's like a break up. What's mine, what's yours. Negotiating custody on things. Like any work environment, there are people that you literally cannot stand. And I obviously won't miss those people - but they are in different departments than me anyways and I never really have to see or interact with them. But my group - the Service group - in all honesty, are some of the best people that I've ever had the privilege of working with. Before my replacement came along, I was the only women in Service. I worked with a bunch of guys - some pretty rough around the edges and others that shouldn't be valve techs in all reality - comedy is their strong suit. I've been the shop Mom, I've been the little sister. I've been the daughter. It's been a great place for me to work. I've had a lot of fun and made some really good friends here. For instance, my friend Joe - he quit here after a few months of me starting - but to this day, almost 4 years down the road, we still go out for a drink (or now non alcoholic drink) every few months. It's going to be weird for me not to be walking in here Monday-Friday for 8 hours of slave labour. It's going to be weird to not see my friends. It's going to be weird not to see what drama ensues on today's episode of "As the Valve Turns" as it normally does. And I think it's going to feel like a big part of my life is missing... after I catch up on some sleep and have a moment to think for myself that is.

Another Chapter in life starts. And it's going to be a readjustment. I'm going to miss this place and curse it all at the same time. Will I be back? I don't know. I can't answer that right now. But, I think I've certainly left my mark here. There will always be a touch of pink where ever you look in the service department. :)

Baby, it's 3 am, I must be lonely...

Oh Matchbox 20...

I'm frustrating as all hell. I just want to sleeeeeeep.

But, the light is near the end of the tunnel - sorta.

Tomorrow is my last day of work for the year. I have been reduced to doing pretty much nothing for the last while here. And while that is a lot of peoples dream jobs, it's frustrating for me. There are only so many things that you can google, look up, and research online before these 8 hour study periods want to make you slit your throat. I need to be kept busy. Stimulated. I was already finding my job starting to lack that challenge as of late, and then after training my replacement, it really sunk in.

I'm also having a really hard time taking Mat leave. I realize I have a ton of stuff to do around the house. Cleaning, organizing, purging and putting back together. (The nesting instinct can be a bitch.) The yard can keep me busy for 2-3 evenings a week alone and the house with Wyatt the Wonder Dog's black dog hair every where could keep me going morning, noon and night with the Bissell.

Here's the thing. I've ALWAYS balanced work with home life. Whether it was the 14 year old Jess that got a job as a Courtesy Clerk at Superstore who balanced school, my hobbies and work, the 18 year old Jess that balanced being a Cashier and full time college student among family, house and hobbies or 23 year old Jess that worked a full time and part time job to cover my living expenses and made time for friends. The common denominator is that for the past 11 years, I've worked. Which is a lot considering I'm 25. So I haven't even left the building yet and I'm starting to feel guilty. Guilty for not contributing to Cal and I's house and life financially. Guilty that I will have the luxury of being kept up until 4 am and then sleep in until 10 am if I wanted/could (well, for now). Guilty that it will take a month before my EI Mat leave kicks in. Just guilty.

A friend at work explained it to me in a way that made me feel better for all of three seconds. But, it was three seconds of a comforting ah-ha moment that makes its guest appearance in my train of thought from time to time. These next few weeks (and really, it could be 1 week or 5 - no one knooooows the time the Gremlin comes marching out) is the last time that I will be able to be home by myself (or with Cal) without children for the next 20 years (assuming professional stay at home son or daughter isn't the aspired career choice here with my child). The last time that if I want to watch a cake decorating show and not Dora and fellow immigrants, I can. Last time I can be laying down and get the urge to go the store 'real quick' and not have to pack a diaper bag, a stroller, car seat, bottles etc. and turn it into a 2 hour production. The last time that I really get to hold on to a sense of who I am and do what I like for the next however many years. The last time for a lot of things. And I should enjoy it. And not feel guilty for taking this 'me' time. So I'm going to try. But it'll be tough. I'm a masochist at heart.

People say that pregnancy brings out the emotional side to everyone. I like to call those people wrong. And I'm sooooo tired of hearing it as an excuse used by others that are knocked up or even better, an excuse for me when I have any reaction to anything (working with a bunch of men, they jump to conclusions). Yes, yes; there are moments that I do find tears in my eyes that normally wouldn't be there. And usually over stupid stuff that is isolated - and mostly to do with what is on TV. But the wailing around, sniffing crying for no reason - nope. If I cry like that, I have a damn good reason - pregnant or not. There is a Pamper's commercial for instance, that upon hearing the music they use in the background I feel that sting to my eyes. Seeing somebody (particularly children) hurt on TV upsets me. Having a stupid argument with Cal will open the water works sometimes but not to the extreme where I'm inconsolable and lacking any control on rational thinking. And I usually walk away before it gets to that point anyways. It does put me in a grumpy mood some mornings (usually after sleepless nights). But really, I'm 8 months up the pole - somethings bound to give. If I wasn't pregnant, they'd be blaming it on PMS. Go figure.

I'm getting tired of being pregnant. I'm getting tired of the responsibility of growing a life inside of me. It was the Stanley Cup final yesterday. Game 7. Series tied. My favored team playing away from their home ice. Where was my beer and clam? Oh yeah. In the fridge. Where I can just look at it. And it sounds selfish, but I've been pretty close to the definition of selfLESS for 8 months. I just want my damn beer. I want a juicy medium rare steak with a glass of red wine. SUSHI! I want SUSHI! I miss hot tubs, super hot baths. I miss my old energy. I miss my sleep. I miss my low rider button up jeans. I miss my t-shirts being long enough to wear without Macgyvering them with tube tops as undershirts that start underneath my boobs just to give me an extra couple inches to cover my tummy so it's not hanging out for the world to see. I'm sick of being told that I look small for being 36 weeks... which in turn, makes me worry. I'm actually sick of worrying about everything. Is baby alright? Normal? Is that twinge of pain I just felt normal? Is it normal that my feet are as swollen as they are the end of the day? At least when baby is out in the open, you can physically see if something is wrong for the most part. Now, when baby is 7 leagues under the sea, I can't see him/her. I don't know. I've never been pregnant before and it's scary as hell when I'm alone sometimes and all I need to do is talk to someone but most normal people are asleep at 3 am. They don't need to have answers. Just listen. Sometimes I wish it was Cal that would, other times my Mom, and then there are times I'd settle for a bum off the street. I'd even make him a sandwhich.

Googling anything while pregnant is like playing Russian Roulette. Sometimes the information is benign and practical. Other times, I'm one step away from finding a corner of a dark room to rock back and forth in while chanting "I'm a horrible mother" on repeat. And then there are the hippies. Every ones inner hippy comes out to some degree while pregnant. "The perfect breakfast for a pregnant woman is plain Greek organic yogurt with organic low fat granola mixed in with organic berries". Bite me. Corn pops it is because that is what I have in cupboard and it sounds delicious. "You should stay away from sugars and carbohydrates". If I want a cherry danish, I'm having it. I won't have 12 of them. 1 is suffice. And there are really little comforts to all of this and if I find it at that moment in cherry danish, then I'm eating it. And don't try to make me feel bad about it hippies.

Life, Love and all these other mysteries.

I am so ready to peek at the back of the book for the answers, like Grade 9 Math and be done with it.

Love,

~J

Once Upon a Time...

Whether I want to admit it or not to myself, I will be a Mom in about a month. I am scared shitless. This impending sense of "I better not screw this up" stems back to my own childhood. What would I have wanted done differently? What would I have changed about my own parents parenting style? What has left the most amount of scars with me today from that time period that I need to vow to myself to never inflict on my own child? I can drive myself insane fairly easily with these questions. So then, I thought to myself, I need to take a different approach to these heavy weighted questions. I need to start with the positives. To figure out what I cherished the most about my childhood. What I think I would be different today without. What taught me the most valuable lessons in a positive light. I went and laid down for a while pondering this. And smiled.

Arts & Crafts

As simple as it is - my Mom made sure I always had a project on the go. Mind you, it probably gave her an escape for half an hour at a time; keeping myself and Tyler (somebody had to teach him and that somebody was me - you know, Big Sister syndrome) preoccupied on something and she could go get some alone time (smart thinking Momma, I'm ripping this move off from you one day), but for me, it was awesome. It gave her ample material to plaster the fridge with too. Which also worked in her favour. Less surfaces to wipe clean. Whether the reason why today I enjoy creative things - painting, sewing, making colours work together, etc. is because of those little projects or because I am naturally predispositioned to it - I'll never know. My Mom and Grandma are/were both exceptionally artistic and talented ladies. But being able to do the little that I can has built in me a characteristic that I love about myself. And one that I feel wouldn't be me without.

Trust

Growing up, I felt like my parents trusted me implicitly. I had the freedom to go out by myself and not be grilled when I got back in (most of the time, I still had a Mother who is a worry wart). When I was really little, there were no issues in me buggering off for a day on the farm with my Spirograph and our dog and coming back whenever I was hungry. Yet again, it was the farm and how many shenanigans could I have gotten into? Especially with a Spirograph. When we moved to St. Albert, again, the neighborhood cul-de-sacs were my hiways and I was free to go to any of them. As I got older and became a teenager out in Sturgeon county, I was allowed to go to friends houses or parties and my parents knew full well they'd be getting a sober, non impregnated daughter back upon my return. And because of this, I never abused that trust. I liked being known as the reliable, the dependable one. It came in especially handy when the car keys were turned over to me. I had more freedom than probably a lot of other kids my age had. But, this one is a little double edged for me though. As much as it was nice to be known as such, I often wonder what I missed out of my adolescences by being the 'perfect' kid. People generally have stories of wild parties, trouble they got into as teens etc. I, of course, was not perfect - but my stories seem juvenile in comparison to some of the tales I hear.
Respect
It was grilled into me at a very young age that I was to respect my elders. Everyone was Mr. or Mrs., Auntie or Uncle (even if they weren't, but were a close family friend). If someone older than I asked me to do something, I did it and didn't back talk them. Please and thank you were not the magic word - they were the 'if I don't want to get a licking I better say it' words. I was to be thoughtful to others, open doors for the elderly, help people carry their things. In essence, be an asset to society - not a hindrance. And, if I were to fall out of line, my backside knew it. That sense of respect to others now is without thought - it just happens. And I appreciate that. It has helped me with school, jobs, personal relationships and life in general. I see some kids now that are barking out commands with a soother still in their mouth, hitting people because they don't get their way and in general, wouldn't listen to anyone if their life depended on it and it's sick. I bite my tongue. It's not my place to say anything, but I'm happy my parents instilled that sense of respect into me before it got to that point.

Unconditional Love and Encouragement from Mommy Dearest

I think this is the biggie. No matter how badly I effed up, no matter how discouraged I was, I could run to my Mom and she would have a hug for me. If things were really bad, I slept in her bed with her and talked about whatever it was into the early hours of the morning. I told all my secrets to her. She was my best friend. We were allies in life. She pushed me to go to college. She pushed me through every Royal Conservatory Exam, she supported my hobbies and if things didn't pan out, she was the first to come up with a solution and show me how to solve a problem. It's been 5 years now since I've been residing elsewhere than under her roof. And of course, our relationship is different. She no longer really knows my day to day stuff, and she no longer is the one I necessarily run to when things get shitty - but deep down I know I could. I admire her strength, her ability to problem solve and above all, her ability to love with abandon.

One thing through this 9 month self discovery process that they call Pregnancy that I've learned is that it is easy for those without children to judge how those that do have children raise their kids. Very easy to say that "When I have kids, I'll never....". I know I personally have over a dozen of these vows to myself and we'll see how long they last. I know for a fact there are quite a few that will remain firm (and trust me, they will). Others will start with good intentions and once I realize what battles are to be picked and won, some will go out of the window. That is life. Our parents did the same thing and our children will do the same thing too. BUT, I do firmly believe that if you instill your children with a set of morals, and are consistent and firm about them, you'll have a much easier time than being the passive parent that allows the kids to call the shots. And less chances that if I have a daughter that she'll be dancing on some pole with her lady bits hanging out. You, as my witness, have full permission to kick my ass if I ever start to slip and become that passive parent.

The thought of being a Mom does scare me. I, myself, am responsible for the majority of the shaping of this child. An impressionable life. With Cal working away from home over half of the year, I am the primary custodian. I know I can do it. But will I do it right? I'm sure everyone has these thoughts and fears. And I am very blessed to have an extended network of family and friends at my disposal for when those times come when I want to run screaming naked down the street in a meltdown. It's just that right now, right here where I sit typing this, it is terrifying. And yet, exciting.

So, my little one... I promise you this. I promise to love you. Protect you. Guide you. Encourage you. Have a firm hand on you. Be the one that fixes all the wrongs that I can. Teach you all that I know. Be your biggest fan. I will try my best. I'll screw up, I'll do the wrong thing, I won't be perfect. But know that the best of intentions are meant. And that you are already so blessed to be surrounded by this huge extended family that is so excited to meet you and teach you all that I can't.