Incoherently Yours

I try not to complain about my kids too much online. My blog posts about them are usually light hearted; a documentation of the things that made me smile, with maybe a few things that drove me crazy but with a funny twist. I don’t write “My kids made me cry today”, or “I screamed so loudly at my children today that my throat hurts”. Those aren’t funny stories. Those aren’t things I want to document or remember. But you know what? Sometimes it happens. And my goal in this online world is to always be real. Open. Honest. I don’t want anyone struggling with things I’m struggling with to think they are alone.                 Sometimes when you look around it can look like everyone has it all together. Or that even when things are going wrong they are finding humour in it or handling it with such grace and poise. I’ve even done that with certain areas of my life. I won’t often write about my depression until it has lifted. I don’t often share in the moment. It’s hard to know what to shar

                This whole thing was going to be a private message to my sisters. Then, as I was rambling on in my head, composing my thoughts internally until I could get to my computer, I realized I may as well turn it into a blog post. Or a novel, as I seem to be particularly rambly these days.                 I’ve been thinking about this particular topic for awhile now. Weight loss. Health. Body image. Cultural conformity. Unrealistic body expectations. I’ve been at war with my body for most of my life. I remember as a pre-teen being terrified that someone would find out my weight. I was ashamed of the number on my jeans. It kind of makes me sad to think about.                 Maybe it has come with getting older, but lately I have been wanting to reconcile with my body. To love it. To accept it. We’ve been through a lot together. Too often when I get on one of those “weightloss kicks” it is preceded by hating my body. By calling it disgusting. By looking in the mirror and fe

Who was it that said that the days are long but the years are short? Whoever it was, they are very wise. I have to register my older son for kindergarten. KINDERGARTEN. It was just yesterday I was in the NICU with him, holding him skin-to-skin. Just yesterday I was coaxing first smiles and giggles out of him. Just yesterday he starting army crawling; just yesterday he took his first steps.                 At four and a half, Kadon seems so grown up. He copies older kids’ mannerisms, he deepens his voice and shrugs his shoulders. His vocabulary is crazy, even if his enunciation is not. (Case in point: he often says “also”, instead of “too”.)                 He loves going to Pre-School. He goes once a week on Wednesday and by Friday he’s asking to go again. He happily went to VBS all last week. Dropping him off places is no longer an issue. He has friends, he has his own sense of humour, his own ideas and plans. He’s a master LEGO builder, building large sets meant for 7-14 year ol