Thoughts on Parenthood

I live in a lovely neighbourhood where a great deal of the backyards back onto a green space and trail.  When I run on said trails I can't help but look into all the backyards.  Honestly, one of the things I look forward to most about owning my own home is the backyard.  I want a huge garden, beautiful flower beds, neatly pruned trees, and a well manicured lawn.  I love yard work.  It's so relaxing.  So when I run pass yards that embody my dreams, my heart just sings.  But those kind of yards aren't all that common.  There are yards where the owners obviously have a dog that has wreaked havoc on everything.  There are yards where the owners just plum don't care.  And then there are yards that belong to the little people that live in the house.  Those yards have toys and bikes and balls and swing sets and sandboxes and much more strewn everywhere.  And although my heart yearns for the tidy yard, I know that when I finally own a house, I will have the last yard.  And that is okay.  Because in all honesty, I think the little people that create the chaos in the last yard will bring me infinitely more joy than the most neat and tidy yard in the world can.  And besides, "to every thing there is a season."

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Summer is Coming

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I've mentioned on here before that I have an unhealthy obsession with summertime.  There's just something so magical about summer in southern Alberta.  It makes my body tingle just thinking about it.  There are so many places to explore.  So many snow bobs and ice cream cones to be eaten.  And the sunsets.  You don't just watch a southern Alberta sunset.  You feel it.  The air just becomes so intoxicating and soft and the sky comes alive.  There's so much sky.  It was this huge deep blue expanse all day, giving you light and energy to make the most of that precious summer day, and in the evening it winds you down and tucks you in for a restful summer night.  The sky becomes God's canvas as He vividly paints the sky from that deep blue to an eruption of orange and red before winding down into violet, indigo, and a dusky purple.  Then the stars come out.  So many stars.  

Anyways, you get the picture that I love summer and I love where I live.  I know most people make New Year's resolutions, and I do too, but I'm more of a summer "resolutionist."  I make summer resolutions, or more commonly called a summer bucket list, and I aim to keep it.  So without further ado, I bring you my Summer 2016 list.

1.  Eat ice cream in Glenwood

2.  Complete an entire 4 week Nike Training Club program 100%

3.  Do the Triple Crown with my pal Emme!

4.  Take Sheriff on a hike... probably Crandell

5.  Go on a bike ride with Jon

6.  Go bridge jumping

7.  T-shirt kickstarter

8.  Sleep on the trampoline with Sheriff

9.  Watch fireworks

10.  Go boating

And this list is my for my more challenging goals, where I won't be totally bummed if it isn't accomplished, but I really, really want to do it.

1.  Swim across Ridge Reservoir

2.  Do the Fantastic Four in 24 hours

3.  

4.

I'm sure there are more but I can't think of them right this second.  I'll add them when I do.

I'M SO DARN EXCITED FOR SUMMER!!!!

Temporally Poor

I went on a run today through a neighbouring community where I'm pretty sure the median home price was at least $1.5 million.  The path went through a green space that nearly all the houses backed onto.  There were ponds with water features and playgrounds littered around and every backyard was perfectly manicured.  And the windows.  Every house was more window than wall, it was like the people and the houses were looking at me as I ran by, thinking, "She's poor.  She doesn't belong here."

Although I really didn't belong, I couldn't help but wonder if there would be a day when I would.  I don't necessarily aspire to be wealthy, but the thought of being comfortable and settled down, of owning a home of my own and being able to splurge every now and then, feels like an unobtainable luxury.  At this point in the game, Jon and I are temporally poor.

Don't get me wrong, I am very happy because I realize how eternally rich we are.  We have so very much to be grateful for.  Heck, temporally we still have a ton to be grateful for too.  We just aren't quite standing on our own.

Last September we moved in with Jon's parents.  Our home is a very generously shared basement.  Everyday, we pray thanking Heavenly Father for Jon's parent's generosity.  In January, Jon quit his job.  In retrospect, it would have been wise to ensure new employment was obtained before making this decision, but Jon was mentally in a very unhappy place with his job.  We don't have a lot to show for it, but we're happy (especially Jon, despite the stress of looking for work).

This point in our lives reminds me of the stories my parents told me growing up.  The stories of how poor they were.  How it was a big deal to treat themselves to some Dairy Queen after my Dad sold back his textbooks.  How the day they paid the last student loan off was more celebrated than the day my Dad got his PhD certificate in the mail.  I'm grateful that they shared these stories with me and I'm grateful that I remember them.  Because if I didn't remember those stories, it would be tough to realize my parents weren't always where they are now.  So someday, someday, maybe Jon and I will be there too.

the days when my own parents were "temporally poor"

Things I'm Learning About Myself

Recently I've been able to put into words one of my unique idiosyncrasies.  I've known this specific quirk of mine existed, I've just never actually tried to express it before.  Allow me to explain.

My very first job was lifeguarding at a small town pool.  I was just a 16 year old with a few certifications, ready to teach kids to swim and save lives.  Turns out my job description also included teaching water aerobic classes, something I had never even heard of.  You see, small towns aren't fancy, but they like to give the townsfolk the feeling that they are.  Oh, water aerobic classes are in right now?  Let's offer them!  Who will teach them?  Just make the lifeguards.  Thus the small town offers something nice, but has teenagers teaching the course who have no idea what they're doing.  They can swim so obviously they can teach water aerobics.  Eventually I was scheduled to work the fateful shift that offered the aerobics class.  The senior lifeguard taught the class but made me get in the water to try it out.  Long story short, I loved it.  It was a game!  I got to spend an hour in the water doing all kinds of weird moves, all in the name of exercise.  Soon enough, I was the one teaching the class and it was still a game, just now I got to call the shots.  It was one of my favourite parts of working at the pool.

A few years later I got a job at a fancy schmancy pool in the big city.  Boy was I surprised to find out that to teach the water aerobics class there you had to have a specific certification that required taking two classes, completing shadow teaching hours, and scheduling a lead instructor to come and watch you teach a class to finally pass.  Since I loved teaching water aerobics it seemed obvious that I should go ahead and get this certification.  It wasn't cheap and it took a lot of time, but by the time I moved home for the summer to work at my beloved small town pool I was at the final step of completing the certification.  All I needed was to schedule a head honcho to come and watch me.  But I never did.  You see, when I came back to the place where it all started, where I first came to love teaching water aerobics, it just wasn't the same.  I had learned that essentially everything I was doing before was wrong.  But when I taught the class the right way, it just wasn't fun anymore.  I've realized the best way to express this trait is:

Knowledge is prison

I've found that when I come to love or really enjoy something, I want to learn more about it.  I gobble up everything related to it.  Yet oftentimes this influx of knowledge takes away that magic spark of genuine interest and replaces it with a rigidity and need for perfection that burns me out.  It's happened several times before and will probably continue to happen throughout my life.  In fact, blogging is a prime example of the "knowledge is prison" phenomenon.  So called "professional bloggers" have made up all these "best practices" that the perfectionist in me is dying to follow.  But the reality is that editing pictures to be the same size or any other blogging hocus pocus robs me of that pure, unadulterated joy I feel while typing out what I'm thinking.  And when I'm robbed of that, I just don't like it or want to do it anymore.  I realize the prison I'm referring to knowledge as is completely constructed by me.  I can't help it.  It's the perfectionist in me.  If I can't do it the right way, I just won't do it.  It's an awful way to approach life.  It's how I approach this here blog.  In fact, that last post I wrote in five minutes was an embarrassment to post, but I made myself do it as a way to stick it to my need for perfection.  And I want to keep doing that.  I want to break out of prison.