The beginning of August always sends me to a million places. I mourn summer and clearly there is almost two months left.I start to panic about, well my lists, I guess, fitting it all in.

I’ve adopted a motto for down time. I avoid planning, probably when I need it most. I go to bed when I want, which means hubby has to wake me from the couch. I get up when I want, which means with the sun. If I sleep past seven it’s a win. I stay outside when it’s hot, read when it’s not. I eat when I’m hungry, feed the family including pets at five.

The ducks don’t always get in a row. Denial of time, gets me through. My husband will prompt me with, ” What are you doing today?” and I generalize. I have mini mind celebrations when I do something that has been on my mind. The have to’s are always done by the end of my second coffee. Come what may for the rest of the day.

The day starts, the day ends. That never changes! What is in the belly of your day? Do you procrastinate as many of us do? You are responsible for you. You are accountable to yourself, your successes and failures are all yours. When you don’t get it right, it’s natural to make excuses, but at the end of the day you know why it went the way it did. So make changes, do what needs to be done. Don’t wait.

Jerimiah lived by our front window for a full season. He was huge, his web was magnificent! After the rain, after the wind, even after the first snow he persevered. We checked on him every day and I just couldn’t sweep his web away.

I have always loved nature. The sounds, the smell, the science, and the mystery. I would sit outside as a child and dig up worms. I thought they were fascinating. The little ones when plucked from the earth would twirl and stretch when you put them on your hand. The dew worms were humongous and although much slower they were able to cover distances pretty fast. I wanted to be a forest ranger as a kid. Weird goals for a city girl!

When I had kids, I wanted them to feel as I did. We spent a great deal of time outside. I encouraged them to use their senses, not just their eyes. We layed in the grass, walked in the rain, splashed in puddles, taught them to whistle with a piece of grass and to sit quiet and just listen. We would get them up to see a meteor shower, or watch the fireflies, and with the change of season run out to watch the first flock of geese come or go.

My middle daughter would scream over every bug as a toodler. I once picked up a Daddy Long Leg spider and let it crawl around on my hand, I made my neighbour, who was petrified, smile and take a turn to show my daughter there was nothing to be afraid of. No kid of mine was gonna be scared of bugs.

My mom is scared of spiders. She can kill them, but while she does it, she will scream the whole time and do some spine tingly dance on her tippy toes. I guess dad had to kill them for her before I was born. Then once I arrived, she called him to get one over the crib, and he told her she would have to do it or it would get the baby.

For me and my dad it’s wasps or bees. Thankfully mom is not, even though as a child she stumbled on a nest and was stung repeatedly. I faced them once when my son was three. We were at the neighbourhood park and there was a small green area behind the swings, he came out swinging his arms to tell me the bugs were biting him. There was an actual swarm around him and I ran to him, picked him up and started running. I was headed for the river, but they stopped chasing us halfway across the field. I am some thankful he wasn’t allergic because he was stung over a dozen times and he is not afraid of them. I am, and do my best to hide it around kids so I don’t transfer that fear.

I would love to have a terrarium filled with rich soil and earthworms. To watch them through the glass, these chubby mystical creatures. Better than fish!

My Grade 10 english teacher used to say, “Life is not fair, whoever told you life was fair, was lying to you.” Unfortunately it is true. I said it all the time, especially to my teens. I hope it doesn’t still auto play in their heads now.

I few years back, I worked with a lovely lady, a few years my senior. She always had stories, she always made me laugh. She listenned, not a lot of people truely listen. I even catch myself sometimes, I listen, but what someone was really trying to say doesn’t come to me till later. I replay convo’s in my head all the time and for the record if people would just ask for cookies, we wouldn’t have a day delay.

If you want something you should just ask. Be specific, people do not read minds. You can’t just stare at a cookie jar and expect people to know that you want one. Maybe if you are a dog. If the cookie jar has a different selection of cookies, you need to say which kind you prefer. Sounds pretty simple right?

I would never ask for help. Feircly independent, mostly stubborn! When I am talking to friends through a problem, small or otherwise, you come to the point of what can you do? When that solution requires someone else, we tend to ignore it. They might say no, and for those of us with the glass half full, they might say yes. How are you going to know if you don’t ask? Throw the “what ifs” aside and ask for the damn cookies!

I make lists, always have. Things I need to do, groceries, appointments. A couple of years ago my lists were huge, big expectations on myself. My middle daughter was over and asked me about my never ending to do list. So I showed her, she took one look and said, ” Omg Mom, no wonder you feel like you get nothing accomplished! Maybe you should write down what you actually have done!”

Well Duh? Why didn’t I think of that? Life gets in the way, and when I added the column of what I actually did do it was rewarding. I always have a checklist of mini goals, but day to day things will take pecedent. I mean yes, I have a wall to paint, but I felt like switching out the seasonal clothes, and of course laundry, dishes, meal prep. Then I went outside and saw the weeds, so I pulled them, when I went to put them in the trash, I figured I should wash out the garbage cans. I may of only checked two things off my list, but I wasn’t just sitting around doing nothing.

It was brilliant, such a little thing, but gave me the bigger picture. I am always writing. I find old diaries all the time, gratitude journals, notebooks with little sayings my kids said, Geneology notes to myself, 30 day challenges I have done, stories I have written, bucket lists . Pictures and papers I have a strong attachment to all of it. It is a big fault of mine, or is it? It’s on my list to display or discard it. Right now though I have to pick up dog crap, and who knows where that will take me…

I was born in New Brunswick and raised in Ontario. We would come to NB every two years to visit family. When i was thirteen, we went to the wharf to get seafood. Since it was a hot day, my Uncle suggested we go to the beach. All the times we had come, I didn’t even know the Ocean was there. It was massive, the waves were mesmerizing, the water was so warm! A real treat! I always told my Aunts I would move here when I was a grown.

When I was eight months pregnant with my first child, my husband and I took a spotaneous vacation to New Brunswick. The pace here is so laid back, no traffic, crime was zero to none. The people were so friendly. Worlds apart from Toronto. My mother was sure we wouldn’t come back.

My husband was in construction and Ontario was booming. He worked in a subdivision of 2500 homes. He just walked house to house. Then the recession started. We took the plunge to move across Canada with our two and a half year old and five month old girls. We also brought our nephew, two nieces and one of our nieces friends, to stay and visit for the first part of our time here.

It was like starting over. It was quite a transition. Nothing opened before 10. Everything closed on Sundays and Holidays. In Ontario I remember taking one minute of silence in the mall on Remembrance day. People in NB look you in the eye and strangers spark up conversations all the time. An elderly gentleman walked around the local grocery store chatting up my kids and asking me questions. I honestly thought he was a stalker. I almost left the store, and when I went through the cash, the cashier did the same. It was a big adjustment for me.

You have to understand, before we moved , we were in Oshawa, and there were reports of someone going around trying to pull babies from strollers! I lived in Scarborough when the Scarborough rapist was loose. So yes, I locked the doors of my house and my cars. I raised my kids to be street smart. They knew their phone number early. I pointed out all the neighbourhood watch houses. I taught them to scream fire not just scream if they were in any kind of danger. When my daughter went to University in Ontario, at least I felt better knowing she had some knowledge of city life.

The first time we went to Halifax, because it was a big city, we were advised to be careful because there is a lot more crime there. Now when we go to Ontario, we stay on the outskirts, we have family there. The morning news comes on and each Borough reports the amount of shootings, stabbings, abductions, beatings in the previous night… It is cringe worthy! Halifax is lovely!

Here we are 30 years later, same house, same phone number. Of the original 30 some families that were here when we moved in, there are 7 of us left in the subdivision.

Times have changed, Our community has grown, there is a little more crime. None of it shocks me, it is still way off from where I grew up. This is home.

As we approach green after eighteen months, I feel this is the moment to unload all the feels I personally felt. I am hesitant because that journey took me to my knees.

First off, I had a premonition of sorts, I was overwhelmed with a real bad feeling at the first of March. Nothing I had ever experienced before, I reached out to my family and told them to pray against it. Something my father would have done, but I never did.

March 13 came and our province shut down. I was obsessed. I watched all the news, and all of the updates. I talked to my doctor and even she was scared. I have many immunocompromised in my immediate family. I work with kids and my daughter works with seniors.

We eventually had to eat and I went to the grocery store. I was almst done when I noticed the line to go to the cash being monitored by someone in a white suit and mask. Someone pointed out the arrows on the floor when I went the wrong way. I panicked! I literally ran to a staff member stocking shelves and said, ” I gotta go, I’m sorry but I can’t get these items!” He said, ” Ma’am I’m just delivering chips.” I bailed, I was sweating, half crying. My poor husband had driven me in and waiting for me. I didn’t know how to explain, but I didn’t need to. He told me I was not the first to bolt back out of the store empty handed. I was suprised at my reaction, that girl, I hadn’t met before. Fiercely independent, solid, a little bit of a rebel, fun…She was gone!

The grey areas made no sense, passing out food at the drive thru in a box, that obviously you had to handle to prepare. The reports on masks, saying they weren’t effective and then having to wear them. Every cough and sniffle was Covid, but you couldn’t get into a doctor.

As a parent of two diabetic kids, I was sanitizing and quarantining, before it was a thing, so that wasn’t new. All the recycling practices went out the window, plastic bags were back and public garbage cans were gone. Everything was peopley and everyone was paranoid. I stopped watching the news. It was my five year old grandson that hollered, ” Mom, Grammie is watching the Breaking News!” and then she told me,” We don’t watch that here.” That I realized that would probably be for the best.

I stayed home, birthdays, and deaths came and went unrecognized, couldn’t go to the hospital for a loved one. Scared to visit the elderly. It was a long but thankfully mild winter. I hibernate during those months, but this was a whole new level.

Green we go back to normal, I hope it’s the old normal. I am still fighting with myself, I am not quite ready to burn the mask. I won’t miss the forced solitude or arrows. I just hope it is over, to be in control of my own life again. Given back some choice on whether or not to mask, or go out in general. Unfortunately this 18 months have given me some real negative qualities. I have been working hard on letting people in and visiting others. I feel quite exhausted after I do it, but happy I did. Onward and upward, bring back that girl I used to be.

Ladies stop! Do not help the decline in society, we need to be there for each other. In history, we have fought to have our place in society. Whether it be shorter skirts or wearing pants. Women have had to fight for their rights to get an education in certain fields, join the workforce, join the army, play proffessional sports, to vote, to be heard. We should work hard to maintain this.

We are no longer just baby makers, breeders. The goal is no longer for us to find a man and be married. That shit happened. Some of it still does in other cultures. It really wasn’t that long ago, some of our new generation have no idea that this is what some of their Gramma’s or Great Gramma’s faced! We have come along way. Women need to band together, lend each other a safe harbour. Advocate for each other.

So often I see social media posts of public, slashing and shaming and tearing each other down. Even little girls have become catty and hateful. Urged on by jealousy and envy, brooding over a boy. Let’s not go backwards. We are warriors!

Families give your children pride. Let them know about the previous obstacles we faced and they should never be told they can’t because they are female. Give them tools to rise above. Give them self esteem. Show them they need to be supporters of each other. To celebrate each others accomplishments. Don’t let them turn away and mumble their displeasure for anothers success. Be sure they hear from you the same. Don’t you walk away from a greeting with another and then slander that same person in your next breath.

People seem to love drama. The shows on TV reflect it. Big Brother, Housewives of Beverly Hills, Bachlorette. Not much of a moral compass. You need to be the moral compass for our future gerneration. There is the “Be Kind” slogan, so be sure both sides of your face reflect it.

I always wanted to be a parent. I had fifteen dolls, they each had a name and went through all my daily routines with me. I grew up as an only child. I would ask to hold parent’s babies at the doctor’s office! I love kids.

Family studies was my favorite class in highschool. Our teacher would put on audio tapes of parenting styles and they were fascinating to me. Giving kids choice, discipline that wasn’t spanking.. they were called consequences. All new fangled stuff in the 80’s.

As soon as I was married we planned our family. I read Parents magazine from cover to cover. There was no internet.

I have three kids. The first one cried through the first night that I brought her home. We paced, is she sick? Hungry? Wet? Cold? Funny now, not so much then. Did you know that sometimes they just cry? Back then babies didn’t room in with their moms, they were kept in the nursing station, lights on overnight, etc. She had her nights and days mixed up.

I was twenty, I looked even younger. I had a nation of women approach me and tell me how to parent in public. Gah! “Oh honey; your baby should have socks on, your baby should be on her side, your baby should wear cloth diapers, no soother, breast only, no solids till one.” Note the words “Your baby.” When the first one was born, my first words were “Mine! Mine, Mine!”

Was I perfect? Hell no! But my kids were first above everything.

My parenting was different. I remember the two older ones scrapping and being an only child, I was baffled. My husband was the youngest of four and said it was normal. It sure looked violent to see two kids under 5, scratching, pinching, screaming in a twisted ball I couldn’t untangle. I once walked in with a bucket of cold water and doused them with it. Another time, I carried the twisted ball to the tub where the cold shower was running and set them in it. I dunno isn’t that what you do with fighting cats? I do know when the youngest came along, the cat days were over.

Parenting under ten is the better stage of parenting. They did get themselves into trouble. I choose consequences that made them accountable. When my daughter was four she took a pencil and made a zig zag pattern on all four freshly painted walls in her room. I gave her an eraser and she erased all of it. My other daughter was playing outside and took the retaining bricks around the culvert and threw them into the ditch. She was three and I took her to the neighbours door kicking and screaming to apologize, he was ever so kind and said it was okay, but I still made her haul them all back into place. My youngest was a wild animal, a dinosaur actually. He would head butt, bite and run like the wind. I had to keep him teethered to me. He would cry so hard he would forget to breathe in and pass out. He bit someone once and I was mortified. The very next time he bit, I bit him back and that was the end of that. Were these the best solutions? Not always, maybe if I was standing over them all the time I could of prevented these incidents. So, never go to the bathroom, do laundry, make supper, talk to your mom on the phone!

Their imaginations were huge! Tons of hours outside, crafts, baking, reading, barbies. Playing house, hardware store, rescue 911, army and school. Neighbourhood games, biking, basketball, baseball. Our neighbourhood was packed with kids and I am sure they have either been in my house or yard to play.

I don’t know how much they remember from under ten. I don’t know how much teenage angst robs from their memories. So much energy! Enjoy your kids, seems a season of time, and then they are moving on to the next season. It goes by too fast Mommas!

An apology is not just saying sorry. We make children say sorry all the time. Not just toeing the dirt, downcast eyes and a mumble. We teach them about eye contact, tone of voice, shaking hands. That’s the short version. Sorry is just a word.

I hate the word sorry. I hate fighting or argueing and forgiveness. Ouch, sounds harsh!

When I was younger, we had some neighbours and their daughter was my best friend. Her parents would have extreme fights. Clothes being thrown out the door, swearing in their language. Someone always left. They always returned and days of peace resumed. My freind enjoyed the return, she always ended up with a gift. We were eight, it was terrifying and then came the relief. Her explanation was, they had a fight and he is sorry. This was on repeat the four years we lived there.

Sorry should mean change. Sorry after sorry for the same thing is not sorry. “sorry not sorry” means sorry I did it, but I’m probably gonna do it again. Or sorry you feel that way, but I’m going to do it anyway.

You can tell a real sorry. I was throwing the ball for my grandkids and they were taking turns catching it. On the toss to my grandson it hit him square in the mouth. I was off my seat and at his side, pulling him into my arms, kissing his face, admitting my mistake, wiping his tears, calling myself funny names to make hime laugh, and then we changed the game.

If someone does something wrong, the word sorry is good. Over and over sorry for the same thing is not sorry. Sorry means nothing without change.

“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” Don’t allow repeats. It’s not music, listening to your favorite song.

If you get an apology, or give an apology, be sure you change the game.

We need to go here for a minute. Anxiety, everyone knows this word. Feeling worried. So understated and not that simple. It can stunt your life, paralyze you. This is a traffic light you could be stalled at forever.

I am a parent, therefore I worry. My own parents were overprotective. That’s what I thought parents do. I voice my worries all the time. “Get down! You are gonna fall! Put the stick down, when you run! Don’t touch that! ”

It’s the auto pilot voice though. The continuous replay of self doubt, irrational thoughts of doom. That is where it goes awry. I didn’t know until someone close to me became medicated for anxiety. They told me that all the overthinking and over analyzing, sits down and shuts up. You can focus without fear. I was truely happy for them…and then I paid attention.

The audio in my head is relentless. I told another friend, what I had heard and what I had learned. They said, ” You’re not medicated? I don’t know anyone that is not medicated.”

So Bell, “Join the Conversation”. I guess I am not talking enough. Strong independant woman, is the very foundation I support everyone from. Apparently I have some holes in it. So my overthinking brain says, go to the root, get therapy to fix the holes, don’t just patch them! This of course costs money, more money than pills. Did you know, now on credit applications, they ask if you are in therapy, or if you have been treated for mental health in the last two years?! Why? Are they denying loans? They aren’t insuring you?

I don’t have answers, My internal monologue will keep me keeping on mostly in fear I guess. It is the quiet ones I worry about. They don’t share and may not find answers. This is where many people are, silent, alone, fighting. Not even knowing they are overwhelmed and part of huge population. If it’s you, reach out, don’t go it alone.