One last time.

What a surprise I gave myself today. It is/was the last day that our old home was ours. I have spent all weekend there cleaning like a freak making sure that when Craig and Louise walk into their new home, they will be met with cleanliness, making the initial feelings about their new home pleasant ones (I hope). Up until this afternoon, I have been grumbly when going over there to clean, anxious "just to put it behind us." I was ready to move on. Or at least I thought I was. Today, all I had to do was go into the front entrance and clean out all the cleaning supplies and paraphernalia that I had cleaned to the entrance with.

As in all proper cleaning jobs, I moved the ever-growing pile of I-have-no-idea-what-to-do-with-this-so-I'll-just-put-it-in-the-pile stuff from room to room. As I cleaned one room, to get pure satisfaction of a clean, empty room, another grew more untidy. Alas, the last room is always a challenge, with bags of mish-mash inevitably arriving back to the new home with the thought of I'll attack those when I have the energy. At any rate, this is what happened here. And I was too tired yesterday to collect the remains that had gathered at the door.

It was supposed to be a quick in and out mission. But I realized that this was the last time that I would get to roam around my house, one last time. Just me and my house. Meandering around, pausing to fondly touch things that were special to me, taking one last look to forever burn these things into my mind, and all with time seemingly standing still. Up to now, leaving this house hasn't phased me. But my memory took over, and I started remembering all the great things that made it a home: Isaac took his first steps right about there; Natty first slept in his big-boy bed in here, Isaac in there; we had the beginnings of trying to reinvent and heal our family after the Cochrane massacre in here; all the meals we've shared; all the work and heart we put into our renovations to make the place completely ours and a reflection of us; our wonderful yard and neighbours... I couldn't help but breaking into a blubbering mess as I wandered from room to room, envisioning and remembering us there, living life. It's not that I don't like where we are now, but I loved that house. Loved it with all my heart. I knew it was fabulous from the start and always liked it more than Dan. But as I walked through, all I felt was sorrow and loss. Be careful little heart, indeed.

I pulled my sniveling self together to go and return Ms. Margaret's things I'd borrowed to clean, as this is the neighbourhood I'm leaving: one where neighbours let you in to their homes and hearts, whatever the reason. I was fine until she asked me how I was doing, and I became unglued yet again. C'mon, Jodi. Have a little dignity here! It wasn't anywhere to be found, I'm afraid. But Margaret gave me a hug and had me in for milk and chocolate-covered biscuits and a visit to help pull me back together. It worked, though my heart still aches for our beautiful little house we made our home. It's a challenge to do the same to this one all over again, but it's the challenge we signed up for. We'll get there. We always do.

The Land of In-between

So today is the last day I teach my students from this year. Usually at this point, I'm a bit choked up as I am going to miss them, and all the memories that we have shared this year together. But I'm not. I counted down to this day from months ago. How long, how long, how long. And now, presto. Fini. What a ride. What an insane ride. Yet we all made it. I don't grieve for missing my students, or the school, but I do grieve wondering if this is the last time (for a while) that I will get to conduct and create beautiful music with the students expectantly waiting in front of me.

Give me summer and my boys for a couple months, and we'll see how the chips fall. I'm up for it.

the glory years.

At book club the other night, I brought up the fact that I believe that I'm getting dumber and dumber as the days tick by. (I have no idea how this fit into the book club discussion at this point, but I do remember there was a certain flow to including it. Or... maybe I just blurted it out. I can't recall, so I'll give myself the benefit of the doubt.) I feel a fraction of what I used to be. I used to be smart, outgoing, witty. I knew what was going on in the world, and I'd have half-intelligent and thought-out opinions to spout out to anyone who queried me. Ask me about a current event now, and my response is most likely a blank, slightly-embarrassed stare, perhaps accompanied by a barely-audible eek. I used to be passionate about how things worked: how society functioned; how my relationships were functioning (Was everything playing out as intended? Was it fair? Was I getting an equal say in the matter and were people hearing me? Was everyone doing their share?) Now I'm just happy if I can scrape through yet another day, have offended no one, have not embarrassed myself, and have had provided food, safety and love for my family.

I used to have visions and dreams and passions about teaching music. And it was my life. My life is focused there no longer. But I still spend time doing it, and I think that knowing what I used to be is what has me aching for that experience again. And yet. I don't have the energy or time to get back to that cherished place. The place where my students adored me (and I them), where I felt like I knew exactly what I needed to do at all times, and could follow through with it. Capably. And receive accolades for my work, insight and talent. What if that was it? My glory years? Dan tells me, Jodi, get over it. That was then. You have to let go of that. It's done. Move on. The wise book-clubbers tell me, Oh no, Jodi, you'll rise again. You're a mom now. You're at home. You're supposed to go brain-dead. But you'll rise again. *deep breath in. and out.* I'll rise again. I like the sound of that. It gives hope and direction. Up. Onwards. Not that having two wonderful (yet taxing and demanding little boys) doesn't. But it's not something I do solely for me. Me, me, me. Mothers aren't supposed to be so selfish. But I'm more than a mother. And I think day after day, it's been easier and easier to forget that.

But I had a fantastically selfish moment this afternoon at school. It was a glimpse of perhaps returning to functioning society and opportunities. All year long, I have felt like a blip on my school's radar. No one has acknowledged myself or the music program, or any of our accomplishments. I took that as fair enough, since I was barely there and wasn't a part of the school's culture. I have almost no relationships built there. But today, after our Spring Concert last night, the principal gave me a talking to that restored a bit of faith in myself. Coming from a principal, I valued the positive, affirming words from her mouth (ok, who am I kidding, I could barely breathe hearing someone talk that way about me again.) But that she's an accomplished musician as well made me value her words even more as she had many specific and pointed things to say about myself, my abilities, my talents with the students, and what knowledge and skills that I have gifted them with this year. I almost floated out of her office. But it made me think, that, yes, given a chance, and a bit of encouragement, perhaps I will rise again. This isn't the end of smart, talented me yet.

Biddy Please?

That's Natty's latest gaffe. I love it. When he gets really worked up, he clasps his hands together, bounces and asks, "Biddy please? Biddy please? Biddy please?" I don't have the heart to tell him he's got it all wrong. Who am I to say? I mean, if he's so passionate about something, and it makes me smile from the inside out, then who am I to rain on his parade? Sure, biddy can mean either a female chicken, or an ugly frightening old woman. But I prefer his interpretation. In honesty, I wish I could learn a few more interpretations from him. See things through his eyes. I bet life would be simpler. And boy, could I ever use a dose of simpler.

I think it might be Spring.

But I don't want to jinx it. (Hence the new layout. I will make it spring, if only on my computer.) This sunshine and warmth was just too much to handle. And I needed it a little too badly. I find it sad when I recognize that the weather can have almost complete control of my moods. I'd like to think that I'm more together than that. A bit more advanced. But I'm not. I'm recognizing that in lots of areas of life. I don't know if it's old age and wisdom, or just getting more jaded that has me realizing that there's not many things that I do which I could consider excellent and worthy of being modeled after by anyone else. Or things I sparkle at. (Thanks goes out to Shannon for that descriptor.) I get by. I do ok. I manage, don't get me wrong. It's just that stage of life, I'm telling myself. Who has the time to be: a balanced, organized, thought-out and loving mother; a compassionate and doting wife; a master teacher and conductor; an inspirational crafter; a reliable and thoughtful friend; a prudent and efficient manager of all banking, investments and funds; a methodical and productive house keeper; and whatever else might tumble into my already crowded lap. It's just not going to happen. I firmly believe that no one can be all of that. It's what gets me through. : )

I'm not really sure where that was going. Just had to get it off my rather flat chest. I am more nervous that I could imagine at all the upcoming upheaval in life, and how I'm going to land when the dust settles... Will the move go as smooth as a move can go? Will all the funding and paperwork be done in the right timing? Will we settle into the new place ok? Will the boys be ok sharing a room upstairs? Have we chose the right kindergarten for Nathaniel? Will Isaac be ok at preschool? Is it too soon to send Isaac to preschool? Will I get a job for the fall? Will it be one that I will enjoy? Will it be at a school nearby? Will it be the right scheduling so that I can still enjoy being a mother with my boys, but will it also pay the bills? Will Craig and Louise be able to sell their house in time to move here? Will it affect the deal that they penned with us? Will they be happy with the house when they arrive? Why do we seem to be needing more money every month? Will I be able to taxi Natty to and from morning kindergarten (5 mornings), and Isaac to and from morning preschool (2 mornings) and still hold down a job? Who is going to care for the boys in the fall while I'm at work? Will they like it there? Will Dan find a new position in September (once his year probation is up) and will it still fit into the choices (and requirements) we've made in life? Things like that. They are perpetually bouncing around in this ol' head of mine. It'll all work out, it always does. I know. It's in God's hands. I know. What's meant to be will be. I know. But it doesn't stop the bouncing... I'm a worry wart. What can I say.

Boy. This is getting depressing. I'll end with a few things that I've overheard of late to bring the mood back up...

At the supper table, Natty and Isaac were eating their applesauce and Dan and I had already left to start cleaning up in the other room. Isaac called out a tattle, "Maaaama.... Natty is..." and we couldn't really make out what the sin was. But we did hear Natty say quietly to Isaac, "Shhh! Don't tell Isaac! That's what brothers are for!"

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Nathaniel told me at bedtime the other night that he wanted to marry me because I was his best friend. I was touched, but explained to him that I was married to Dada and had my ring. (I didn't get much into the whole mother-son thing yet.) He listed people he wanted to marry, and was disappointed that they all had their rings as well. The mood did brighten, however, when he learned that India didn't have her ring yet. He resolved it was India he would marry. He even promised not to bug and tease her if it meant her saying yes. Now, all he needed from me, he asked, was me to remind him when he was grown up that it was India that he had to ask to marry him.

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Isaac has realized that he has an equal say in the family and that people will listen to him if he has something to say. He has found this very empowering. Frequently he will interrupt a conversation by repeatedly saying "Excuuuuse me... excuuuuuuse me!" until someone says, "Yes, Isaac?" Problem is, he doesn't usually have anything to say. He just wants a turn. So he usually responds in this way, "um... ummm.... ummmm... um..." until Natty finally interrupted him the other day and exasperatedly demanded, "Isaac! Is it just the ums?"

Recent sunny days...

I have no idea how to get the same clear quality from our camera onto the web. This is the best I could figure. Hopefully you get the idea. : )

If I were a more resolute person

I would make all sorts of new years' resolutions. Ones that I thought were important. Worthy of trying to change my current way of being around for. Ones like:

*kiss Dan when he leaves and comes back from work every day
*eat healthier
*work out 2-3 times a week
*send a piece of fun-mail to some deserving person once a week
*purpose time to visit with friends more often
*call family and friends more often
*read more
*develop more of our pictures
*tithe
*organize a craft centre for the boys and plan great, engaging crafts
*scrapbook anything after Natty's first year
*make sure I wash my face *every* night
*take more videos of the boys and send them to grandparents, or create DVDs
*pay *all* our bills on time every month
*lose my temper with the boys less often
*keep a clean desk
*worry less about how my body looks
*create an efficient system for incoming mail, papers, etc.
*clean our bathroom more often
*walk Maya (poor, little neglected puppet)
*invite people over here more often
*volunteer time to the less fortune, and somehow foster that sense of compassion and responsibility with the boys
*take more chances
*be more encouraging
*write something meaningful or funny down every day that the boys said or did
*send love notes
*and of course, laugh more often.

But, sweet marie, that's sure a lot of work. And goodness, I'm not that resolute.

Here's to 2008.