moving

moving

I have been posting intermittently on this blog for many years, but I have opted to move to a new venue. Most of the content from  here has migrated over.

To read of the ongoing adventures and nonsense that is my life, simply go to bevgrondin.ca.

happy halloween!

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What was I just doing?

The fact that humans have increasingly shorter attention spans thanks to our ever-increasing addiction to technology is old news, but at the time that the research study came out, I didn’t feel like I was one of the mental victims of smartphones. I was still able to read multi-page, in-depth articles before my mind started to wander and I had no idea what TLDR even stood for. I also read. A lot. And when this study was published in 2016, most of the books I read were still made of actual paper and not in electronic form.

Two years later, though, it’s a different story. I barely have the ability to get through an entire magazine, and when I recently picked up my (ebook) copy of Pride & Prejudice, which I have read more times than I can count, my mind drifted while I glossed over the eloquent language that I had once devoured with pleasure.

When I check the news (via my phone), I rarely make it much further than the headlines before my brain starts to drift, and the articles that I do read tend to be the ones focused on Lifestyle, and less on in-depth, serious reporting.

I didn’t realize I had a problem until I tried to read The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton. Only a few years ago, I would have ripped through the pages in record speed, and now I am struggling to get past the first few pages. The discovery of my reduced attention span is personally humiliating. Help is clearly needed.

It’s often said that the first step towards recovery being able to admit that you have a problem in the first place. As part of my treatment, I have started to re-read Pride & Prejudice – while my end goal is to be able to read The Age of Innocence, I figured I should start with a story that I already know inside and out.

My next step towards recovery is to… (excuse me while I check my phone.)

…Ok, I’m back. Someone just sent me an image of cheese, so clearly I needed to stop what I was doing to look at it.

What was I saying? Oh right. My next step towards recovery is to try to ignore my phone when I am in the middle of other things, like working or hanging out with people. So far so good, right?

I’ll report back if I ever manage to get to Edith Wharton’s book. Fingers crossed.

 

Birthday Party Terror

birthday-2901945_1920.jpgFor those who don’t know me, I somehow manage to function with a low to moderate level of anxiety on a regular basis. This has been my reality for my entire life, and through the years I have found various ways to help cope, including creating situations where I can manage or minimize my stress. This sometimes means that I appear to be a bit of a control freak to those on the outside.

My main focus for my anxieties for the past 9 years has been managing my son’s food allergies. At the tender age of nine months, we discovered that he was allergic to eggs, which lead to a complete revamp to how our family ate, shopped and generally looked at food. At the age of three, after a year of eating peanuts, we discovered that he was allergic to those as well.

Ever since our initial discovery of the allergies, social gatherings of any kind have been a source for my swirling anxieties. Unless, of course, I was the one buying and preparing all the food. Even my husband and I have accidentally fed our kid things that contained egg that we missed on the ingredients list – immediate hives and an upset stomach – so how could I trust someone who doesn’t have to live with it on a daily basis to remember to read the ingredients list every.single.time? What about cross-contamination in their kitchen? What if the sugar for those cookies came from the bulk food store?

Thankfully, the egg allergy was outgrown and it is fairly easy to find nut-free snacks at grocery stores where we live, so I have become more relaxed about food. To an extent. There are now people whom I trust to cook or bake for my family – friends and family members who have proven they get how important it is to be cautious, and who don’t make me feel like a crazy person if I grill them about their ingredients.

My son is now almost 10 years old, and he is also becoming an advocate for himself – often (but not always) double-checking that the food he is being offered is safe. BUT, birthday parties are still a huge source of stress for me because of the dreaded birthday cake.

Homemade or store bought, most of the time the cake is a treat that my kid can’t partake in. Sure, I can (and have many, many times) bring him his own special cupcake, but even if he gets a yummy cupcake, it’s not the same as digging into a giant slab of the official birthday cake.

The point of this post, you wonder? Other than to share with everyone that I have my own (very real) struggles that I (usually unsuccessfully) try to hide from the rest of the world? Well, this weekend my son will be going to a birthday party and the invitation very clearly stated that the cake with be NUT FREE. My son is not the only invited guest with a nut allergy, and this seemingly small gesture from the birthday boy’s mom literally makes me tear up. As I have every time someone has gone out of their way to ensure my kid is not excluded.

These are the moments when my I feel my anxiety levels dip low, and I can just be happy for my kid that he gets to enjoy a party with his friends.

a little bit of music

My younger son is the adventurous one, the kid who will join all clubs and try all things presented to him. He swallows up his nerves and repurposes them into internal drive. To be honest, I wish I could be more like him some days.

He’s been taking accoustic guitar lessons for the past year at a local music school. Once a week for 30 minutes he sits with his teacher and furthers his skill and knowledge, and I am inspired by all the young musicians developing their talents in other small rooms throughout this converted house.

The window is open in two of the rooms facing the backyard, where I sit. From the basement I hear as a young boy, a couple years older than my guy, learning to beats to Don’t Speak by No Doubt. One floor above, I hear someone else learning a classical song (don’t ask which one!) on the upright piano.

From another room I can faintly hear a child singing.

And while I can’t hear him, I know my young man is learning how to play one of the traditional songs in his lesson book. I’m amazed and impressed by these young people who willingly let the world hear their talent, develop their passions, and generally just challenge themselves to learn a skill they can carry with them for the rest of their lives.

It’s a beautiful cacophony. Even the squirrels seem to be drawn in by it all. Either that, or they want the acorns. (I tried to take a picture of the squirrels but they were too quick. next time)

 

First Day of School

I have a fascination with taking photos of my boys as they are walking away from me – on their first and last days of school, or as they strut down the street with friends. When they don’t know that I am watching, they show me a part of themselves that is usually shielded when they pose for photos.

The symbolism of these photos is not lost on me – my boys walking away from me into their future and slowly gaining their independence. They are ready for it, even if I’m not.

This is the first time that I am not quite ready for them to head back to school. We have had such an amazing summer – lazy days at the cottage, swimming in the lake, playing board games, searching for frogs, and being ever vigilant for snakes! Of course, there were moments and days when they drove me bananas with their bickering and wrestling, but for the most part I got such a thrill in being able to enjoy getting to know them, and the persons they are becoming.

Here they are off to Grade 5 and Grade 3. While they are still so young,  I am acutely aware that there are precious few years left where they will be content to spend their whole summer with just the three of us (and Daddy when he’s not at work). I am so blessed to be able to spend my days with them, and I just didn’t want these days to come to an end.

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their world awaits

respawn

my posts were always sporadic because I would often start writing something and forget to post. Then I went through what I consider my “lost year” when I helped my sister through her many months of cancer treatment. three years later and I still have a hard time thinking about the long days and weeks of feeling like I was being pulled in 5 different directions every moment of the day. also, I am terrified of putting my real self out “there” for the world to see. I assume that what I say is not clever enough, or funny enough, or interesting enough. I also had (and still have) a bizarre objection to blogging and our society’s obsession with over-sharing on the internet. But here I am cascading through life in my 40s and I am in the fortunate position where my “job” is taking care of my family. My time is (mostly) my own to do with what I will while my husband toils away at his job and my kids play with superheroes. I am now, and always have been, a writer. even if no one wants to read what I put down on virtual paper, I feel better when I have extracted the words from my head.

I have many notes of half-written posts and ideas of stories. maybe I will share them. In the meantime, have decided to resurrect this dormant space and use it to keep my imagination swirling and to perhaps share bizarre or boring stories of my life.

chronicles of the injury prone

Under the bandage is a bruised and scraped up ankle. sigh

Just as my twisted left ankle was starting to feel better, I fell victim to another random injury. This time, at least I have a good story to go along with my banged up ankle. 

Let me set the scene: after resting my left foot to the point where I felt steady enough to walk to the water, I decided to bring my little guy on a canoe ride around the Bay. Using my super strength, I coaxed the large, fiberglass canoe from the boathouse into the water, held it steady while my kiddo boarded and gingerly climbed in. We have a double-ended paddle that makes solo paddling a breeze. So, we were off, keeping to the shallower parts of the Bay – it was getting fairly windy and it’s been a while since I was in control of a canoe; it would have been bad for my credibility if I’d capsized with my little guy on board.

Trevor and Brendan swam out to the raft do I dropped off Nathan to jump into the deeper water with them. I also felt like swimming so I decided to return the canoe to shore. All was going well; I managed to align myself close to our stairs (without crashing into them!) and started to climb out while firmly keeping hold of the canoe. Just as I was dipping my foot into the water, a wave hit the canoe, knocking me off balance and forcing my foot against a couple of rocks. 

My ankle turned purple almost immediately but it wasn’t until I was out of the water and trying to walk that the real pain set it. 

I think this is the universe telling me to sit down and relax. I guess I have no choice! 

they have found the perfect spot to lay out and relax after a morning of swimming