Trying to be 'green' lately, but not sure how to translate your efforts over to the Christmas Season? A few tips for starting new, green traditions.
1) Bring Your Bags. We are getting used to bringing our reusable bags to the grocery store, but it is just as important at the mall. When buying gifts, people will often walk out with 15 tiny bags, when all those things would have fit into one reusable bag.
2) Consider a new Tree Tradition. If you have a young child at home, consider buying a smaller (four foot or so) potted tree. Decorate as usual, but at the end of the season, stick it outside, ready to grow a bit for next year. You can buy or rent live or potted trees at many local garden centres.
3) Give Green: Consider buying eco-friendly gifts. With growing consumer interest in green products, it is easier to find green gifts for every member of the family.
4) Buy Local: From gifts, to wrapping, to food, try to buy as much as you can from locally-owned, or locally grown merchants. This cuts greenhouse gas emissions from shipping, and supports local economy and jobs.
5) Re-gift. If you get something, that you are honestly never going to use, give it to someone who will. There is no shame in giving someone something you think they will use.
6) Re-wrap. Consider buying or making some fabric gift bags, that can be used over and over again. If you receive gifts in paper gift bags, save them for next year. I will be wrapping my gift this year in the few brown paper bags I have collected from trips to the grocery store when I forgot my re-usable bags.
7) Decorate with Nature. Natural ornaments like holly, evergreen, cranberries, popcorn and fruit are all compostable, and smell great in your house! It's fun to take a trip outside or to the farm to buy these things, and then create beautiful wreaths, garlands and centerpieces.
8) Give Giving. Many charities are offering gift cards, or "Buy an Acre" or "Adopt a Wildlife" Certificates. World Vision has a program for sponsoring families or entire communities with the resources to start their own businesses. Locally, Madrona Farms, Save Mary Lake, David Suzuki Foundation, and assorted others are offering Gift Ideas this season. Canada Gives lets you buy a charitable gift card, that the recipient decides who to donate it to.
9) Don't pass on recycling: During the holiday season, it seems a lot easier to trash things, than rinse/fold/break down and recycle them. At this highly consumer-driven time of year, it is especially important to keep as much waste from the landfill as we can.
Hope you have a very special holiday season!
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Surviving Christmas: Keeping the Peace and Acknoledging those who do it every day.
At this time of year, it can be hard to remember why we are doing all of this. I look at the calendar, and realize that in 16 days, it will all be over for another year, but not before some good times, and some tough times, with our families.
I work as a behaviour consultant and interventionist for children and youth affected by developmental disabilities. The families I work with, are often under tremendous stress at this time of year, in anticipation of having to bring their child to all sorts of get-togethers and shin-digs, at which the child will be expected to be on it's best behaviour. Well, best behaviour for your child, and best behaviour for a child with FASD or Autism, are two entirely different things.
I grew up with a younger sister affected by autism. She is now an adult, and thriving, but for many, many, many years, it was a challenge to survive the holidays. I remember when she was just 2 or 3, and we would set up the Christmas tree, and then over the course of the season, the tinsel would fall off the tree and onto the carpet. When the tinsel got stuck to her feet and hands, she would go crazy, scream and cry, until someone took it off of her.
As she got older, we realized how important rituals and traditions are to people with different brains. She is the one who keeps track of our family traditions, and makes sure we repeat them every year. Whether it is reading "The Night Before Christmas" together as a family on Christmas Eve, or cooking the Christmas Breakfast, it all has to be done the way it was done last year, and all the years before that.
Now, if you were to try to change the traditions, that would be a problem. If we were to try to go out of town for Christmas, she might not survive the anxiety. One year my mom brought home a new book, to read together on Christmas Eve. After surviving its trip out the window, I believe it is still in it's package.
For some people, this rigidity is uncomfortable. Even for me. Is it really such a big deal if we have sausages instead of bacon for breaky? Once in a while, I would like to switch up the routine. But then I remember the effect this will have on my whole family, and especially my sister. So we let her run the show, and she does a good job, and we all enjoy our holidays together.
The biggest challenge in working with people with developmental disabilities, can be convincing other people that it is not the child that needs to change, but the environment. When the environment is accepting and understanding of the cognitive differences, everyone will have a better time.
This Holiday Season, while enjoying time with your family, appreciate their flexibility, or lack thereof. Each person brings their own unique gifts, and if this person's gift is that of Tradition, then so be it. If your gift is flexibility, then be flexible, and adapt yourself to make someone elses holiday a little easier.
There are a few tips and tricks I have for surviving holidays with family, any family, but especially those who are affected by brain-differences.
1) Don't get stuck at the shopping centre on Christmas Eve. Be prepared, and have your shopping done before the last minute, or have someone like a friend or family member help you out. Dragging your kids through packed malls and parking lots is asking for a meltdown.
2) Skip on Sugar: At the tip of my stocking every year, is a mandarin orange. When I was a kid, the orange was the only thing we were allowed to eat before breakfast, and had to save the candy for later. When kids are already exhausted from staying up late, and getting up early, a morning sugar dose, is just asking for a 1:00pm meltdown. Sugarless Stuffers: magnets, brain-teaser games, stickers, stuffed animals, fruit, dried fruit, nuts and seeds, gift cards, chips or salty snacks, crayons/art supplies, photo albums (if already filled by parents, can occupy a lot of time looking through at all the faces and places.)
3)Take a breakfast break. Getting caught up in stockings, Santa presents, and then family presents on the morning of the 25th can be an effort for any of us, let alone for a child who's brain works differently. Be sure to take a break, get some good food in their bellies. This will help balance out the inevitable sugar, and keep everyone sane.
4) Take an exercise break. A wise, wise woman I know, calls this a 'transition activity,' an in-between task that gets kids who have difficulty changing modalities, ready for the next task or activity. For example, after the kids have breakfast, send them out to the back yard to see if the Reindeer ate the carrots. When they run back in, dad-chewed-carrots in hand, they will be out of breath, and ready for the next gift. In Victoria, we are usually blessed with Green Christmases, and can go outside in our jammies, even in December. When presents are done, have a family game of soccer, or xbox Kinect. If you have a dog, take him/her for a walk together, the dog will appreciate the break from the madness, and it will give the whole family a chance to get some fresh air and talk about whats going on outside.
5) Let it go. Christmas is tough. It's tough for parents, and its tough for kids. And its supposed to be all candy-canes and sleighbells. I know. The truth of the matter, is that we are all at the end of our ropes, and even the most wonderful parents and kids will make mistakes. Cut them some slack. No one wants to fight.
6) Don't give a dirty look to the woman who's child is struggling at the grocery line-up. Developmental disabilities are usually invisible, meaning the child may look like an average child, but have a completely different brain. You don't know what they have been through today, let alone this month. I know a parent who is at her wits end because her son was kicked out of preschool for being non-compliant. PRESCHOOL. Can you imagine the burden she holds? Can you imaging holding that burden, AND being given dirty look every where you go, because your son can't handle being in a high-stress, environment?
This holiday season, if you know someone who is a caregiver of a child who is "better than average," take a minute to appreciate them. Parents of kids affected by FASD and Autism are some of the most amazing, wonderful people I know, and are definitely the ones who are recognized the least. Even just a phone call, to say thanks for being you, can make the day of a parent who is otherwise struggling. If you have time, offer to take them for a coffee, or a play date. If time is limited, send a card, that tells them you admire all their hard work. It takes a special person to be a parent to these kids, and we need to tell them how much we appreciate the work they put in.
The kindest words, I ever heard from a stranger, were "Look at the smiles on those kids faces, they look so proud." Simple, yet so powerful.
I work as a behaviour consultant and interventionist for children and youth affected by developmental disabilities. The families I work with, are often under tremendous stress at this time of year, in anticipation of having to bring their child to all sorts of get-togethers and shin-digs, at which the child will be expected to be on it's best behaviour. Well, best behaviour for your child, and best behaviour for a child with FASD or Autism, are two entirely different things.
I grew up with a younger sister affected by autism. She is now an adult, and thriving, but for many, many, many years, it was a challenge to survive the holidays. I remember when she was just 2 or 3, and we would set up the Christmas tree, and then over the course of the season, the tinsel would fall off the tree and onto the carpet. When the tinsel got stuck to her feet and hands, she would go crazy, scream and cry, until someone took it off of her.
As she got older, we realized how important rituals and traditions are to people with different brains. She is the one who keeps track of our family traditions, and makes sure we repeat them every year. Whether it is reading "The Night Before Christmas" together as a family on Christmas Eve, or cooking the Christmas Breakfast, it all has to be done the way it was done last year, and all the years before that.
Now, if you were to try to change the traditions, that would be a problem. If we were to try to go out of town for Christmas, she might not survive the anxiety. One year my mom brought home a new book, to read together on Christmas Eve. After surviving its trip out the window, I believe it is still in it's package.
For some people, this rigidity is uncomfortable. Even for me. Is it really such a big deal if we have sausages instead of bacon for breaky? Once in a while, I would like to switch up the routine. But then I remember the effect this will have on my whole family, and especially my sister. So we let her run the show, and she does a good job, and we all enjoy our holidays together.
The biggest challenge in working with people with developmental disabilities, can be convincing other people that it is not the child that needs to change, but the environment. When the environment is accepting and understanding of the cognitive differences, everyone will have a better time.
This Holiday Season, while enjoying time with your family, appreciate their flexibility, or lack thereof. Each person brings their own unique gifts, and if this person's gift is that of Tradition, then so be it. If your gift is flexibility, then be flexible, and adapt yourself to make someone elses holiday a little easier.
There are a few tips and tricks I have for surviving holidays with family, any family, but especially those who are affected by brain-differences.
1) Don't get stuck at the shopping centre on Christmas Eve. Be prepared, and have your shopping done before the last minute, or have someone like a friend or family member help you out. Dragging your kids through packed malls and parking lots is asking for a meltdown.
2) Skip on Sugar: At the tip of my stocking every year, is a mandarin orange. When I was a kid, the orange was the only thing we were allowed to eat before breakfast, and had to save the candy for later. When kids are already exhausted from staying up late, and getting up early, a morning sugar dose, is just asking for a 1:00pm meltdown. Sugarless Stuffers: magnets, brain-teaser games, stickers, stuffed animals, fruit, dried fruit, nuts and seeds, gift cards, chips or salty snacks, crayons/art supplies, photo albums (if already filled by parents, can occupy a lot of time looking through at all the faces and places.)
3)Take a breakfast break. Getting caught up in stockings, Santa presents, and then family presents on the morning of the 25th can be an effort for any of us, let alone for a child who's brain works differently. Be sure to take a break, get some good food in their bellies. This will help balance out the inevitable sugar, and keep everyone sane.
4) Take an exercise break. A wise, wise woman I know, calls this a 'transition activity,' an in-between task that gets kids who have difficulty changing modalities, ready for the next task or activity. For example, after the kids have breakfast, send them out to the back yard to see if the Reindeer ate the carrots. When they run back in, dad-chewed-carrots in hand, they will be out of breath, and ready for the next gift. In Victoria, we are usually blessed with Green Christmases, and can go outside in our jammies, even in December. When presents are done, have a family game of soccer, or xbox Kinect. If you have a dog, take him/her for a walk together, the dog will appreciate the break from the madness, and it will give the whole family a chance to get some fresh air and talk about whats going on outside.
5) Let it go. Christmas is tough. It's tough for parents, and its tough for kids. And its supposed to be all candy-canes and sleighbells. I know. The truth of the matter, is that we are all at the end of our ropes, and even the most wonderful parents and kids will make mistakes. Cut them some slack. No one wants to fight.
6) Don't give a dirty look to the woman who's child is struggling at the grocery line-up. Developmental disabilities are usually invisible, meaning the child may look like an average child, but have a completely different brain. You don't know what they have been through today, let alone this month. I know a parent who is at her wits end because her son was kicked out of preschool for being non-compliant. PRESCHOOL. Can you imagine the burden she holds? Can you imaging holding that burden, AND being given dirty look every where you go, because your son can't handle being in a high-stress, environment?
This holiday season, if you know someone who is a caregiver of a child who is "better than average," take a minute to appreciate them. Parents of kids affected by FASD and Autism are some of the most amazing, wonderful people I know, and are definitely the ones who are recognized the least. Even just a phone call, to say thanks for being you, can make the day of a parent who is otherwise struggling. If you have time, offer to take them for a coffee, or a play date. If time is limited, send a card, that tells them you admire all their hard work. It takes a special person to be a parent to these kids, and we need to tell them how much we appreciate the work they put in.
The kindest words, I ever heard from a stranger, were "Look at the smiles on those kids faces, they look so proud." Simple, yet so powerful.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
DISGUSTING experiences in finding a new doctor....
From the time I was born, untill I was 20 years old, I had the same Doctor. She is the person who delivered me at birth. She was friendly, caring, proactive, and always asked the right questions. And then one day, she announced that she was closing her family practice, and working in the Oncology clinic at the hospital. Lame Sauce. She was kind enough to provide us with a list of Doctors accepting new patients, some of their beliefs, and their contact info.
So the whole family of us got a new doctor. Another lady. Not quite as wonderful, but just as good as we needed her to be. She was personable, and always had our well-being in mind. And then one day, she announced that she was overworked and was taking time off to work in a clinic. Sounds familiar.
I needed to see a doctor a few times, and was always able to access one at the Shelbourne Medical Centre at Shelbourne and North Dairy. Their staff and doctors are always polite, helpful, and caring. I love them.
So we hunted and searched, and got onto a wait list for the only other female doctor who was accepting patients. She forwarded a bunch of paperwork, and asked us to fill it out an bring it to the first appointment.
So here's where it gets weird...
The paper work, was so terribly copied that it was almost illegible, and the information was poorly organized. I couldn't believe that this was the paper she was using to advertise her practice.
The 'contract' of her 'terms' of 'care' involved this sentence, "I will not prescribe narcotics." Really? A whole classification of drugs is ruled out of her treatment/care options? I could see if it was "I will not support abortion," because there are some deeper values involved there, but Narcotics? Isn't it a little juvennile to rule out options that may help patients? Now, don't get me wrong, I can't even take narcotics, so it made no difference to me, but the idea that she was so stringent rubbed me the wrong way a bit. If she had a patient who wanted to get off heroin, would she deny him methadone? What if my sister broke her ankle, would she be denied Tylenol #3?
When I arrived on-time at the office, I sat for 20 minutes, before being taken to the exam room, to wait another 10. I hate it when people give you a scheduled time, and then waste your time anyways.
This is where it gets good.... I walked behind the MOA (medical office assistant) to the exam room. As she opened the door, I almost vomitted. There, on the exam bed/table, was a HUGE puddle of DISGUSTING yellowish-whitish-bloodish GROSSNESS. It was clearly soaking through the paper, onto the mattress below. UGH! I verbally acknowledged my disgust, and the MOA simply tore off the paper, threw it out, and pulled a new sheet out. She said "The doctor will be with you in a moment."
I just about screamed as I realized that she was closing the door and going back to her desk, while leaving me in the room with the filthy bed, which was now soaking through the new paper.
I should have left at this point.
Finally, after convincing myself that I need a family doctor for ten minutes, She walked in.....and get this....tossed my file onto to moistness on the bed. AAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHH!!!! Gross!
She asked me some questions about what drugs I have taken, and I explained that I am on an anxiety controlling drug, that I have been on for about 2 years, and was the first drug to work for me after years and years of trying different meds. And then..... She tells me that when I run out of my prescription, I will need to make an appointment for her to re-assess me, as she will not continue my prescription, until she makes her own diagnosis. Seriously? After 10 years of trying to find the right med, I have to go through it again?
Then she asks me about my family history. I explain to her that I have never had any contact with my sperm donor, and am unaware of that side, and that my mother and I have no contact with her family, so I have no info about that side either. "You mean you don't know your father? Not his medical history? How do you mean? Are his parents healthy? Aunts, Uncles? Cousins?" I am sure I gave her a most disapproving look, while I explained, again, the sensitive subject of my paternal genetics. And then, despite what I already said about both sides of the family being estranged, she then grilled me about my mothers side. All the while writing notes in my file, which was sitting in the moistness on the bed. EWWW.
As I left the office, I knew this would not be a good fit, based on the cleanliness issue alone. I asked the MOA for my paperwork back, one of which was the request signed by me, to have my file sent over from the old doctor. THEY REFUSED!
Knowing, that if i did not leave, I would soon have the MOA on the floor beating the life out of her, I left. I slammed the door behind me. The icing on the cake was that five minutes later, the MOA called my cellphone to ask me if I was ok. Umm....NO NOT OKAY. And I screamed at her to shred those papers, or I would be in touch with the College of Physicians.
I had to pay an additional fee to have my file 'locked' at my old Doctor's office, just to avoid having the dirty practice get their hands on it.
I will not publish the dirty doctors name, but let it be known, she is one of only two female doctors accepting patients in Victoria, and the two of them both work in the same practice.
I will publicly acknowledge the 'North Dairy Clinc' as I call it, as being wonderful medical care providers, and always accessible, friendly and courteous. I will continue to receive care from them until I find a new Doctor.
So the whole family of us got a new doctor. Another lady. Not quite as wonderful, but just as good as we needed her to be. She was personable, and always had our well-being in mind. And then one day, she announced that she was overworked and was taking time off to work in a clinic. Sounds familiar.
I needed to see a doctor a few times, and was always able to access one at the Shelbourne Medical Centre at Shelbourne and North Dairy. Their staff and doctors are always polite, helpful, and caring. I love them.
So we hunted and searched, and got onto a wait list for the only other female doctor who was accepting patients. She forwarded a bunch of paperwork, and asked us to fill it out an bring it to the first appointment.
So here's where it gets weird...
The paper work, was so terribly copied that it was almost illegible, and the information was poorly organized. I couldn't believe that this was the paper she was using to advertise her practice.
The 'contract' of her 'terms' of 'care' involved this sentence, "I will not prescribe narcotics." Really? A whole classification of drugs is ruled out of her treatment/care options? I could see if it was "I will not support abortion," because there are some deeper values involved there, but Narcotics? Isn't it a little juvennile to rule out options that may help patients? Now, don't get me wrong, I can't even take narcotics, so it made no difference to me, but the idea that she was so stringent rubbed me the wrong way a bit. If she had a patient who wanted to get off heroin, would she deny him methadone? What if my sister broke her ankle, would she be denied Tylenol #3?
When I arrived on-time at the office, I sat for 20 minutes, before being taken to the exam room, to wait another 10. I hate it when people give you a scheduled time, and then waste your time anyways.
This is where it gets good.... I walked behind the MOA (medical office assistant) to the exam room. As she opened the door, I almost vomitted. There, on the exam bed/table, was a HUGE puddle of DISGUSTING yellowish-whitish-bloodish GROSSNESS. It was clearly soaking through the paper, onto the mattress below. UGH! I verbally acknowledged my disgust, and the MOA simply tore off the paper, threw it out, and pulled a new sheet out. She said "The doctor will be with you in a moment."
I just about screamed as I realized that she was closing the door and going back to her desk, while leaving me in the room with the filthy bed, which was now soaking through the new paper.
I should have left at this point.
Finally, after convincing myself that I need a family doctor for ten minutes, She walked in.....and get this....tossed my file onto to moistness on the bed. AAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHH!!!! Gross!
She asked me some questions about what drugs I have taken, and I explained that I am on an anxiety controlling drug, that I have been on for about 2 years, and was the first drug to work for me after years and years of trying different meds. And then..... She tells me that when I run out of my prescription, I will need to make an appointment for her to re-assess me, as she will not continue my prescription, until she makes her own diagnosis. Seriously? After 10 years of trying to find the right med, I have to go through it again?
Then she asks me about my family history. I explain to her that I have never had any contact with my sperm donor, and am unaware of that side, and that my mother and I have no contact with her family, so I have no info about that side either. "You mean you don't know your father? Not his medical history? How do you mean? Are his parents healthy? Aunts, Uncles? Cousins?" I am sure I gave her a most disapproving look, while I explained, again, the sensitive subject of my paternal genetics. And then, despite what I already said about both sides of the family being estranged, she then grilled me about my mothers side. All the while writing notes in my file, which was sitting in the moistness on the bed. EWWW.
As I left the office, I knew this would not be a good fit, based on the cleanliness issue alone. I asked the MOA for my paperwork back, one of which was the request signed by me, to have my file sent over from the old doctor. THEY REFUSED!
Knowing, that if i did not leave, I would soon have the MOA on the floor beating the life out of her, I left. I slammed the door behind me. The icing on the cake was that five minutes later, the MOA called my cellphone to ask me if I was ok. Umm....NO NOT OKAY. And I screamed at her to shred those papers, or I would be in touch with the College of Physicians.
I had to pay an additional fee to have my file 'locked' at my old Doctor's office, just to avoid having the dirty practice get their hands on it.
I will not publish the dirty doctors name, but let it be known, she is one of only two female doctors accepting patients in Victoria, and the two of them both work in the same practice.
I will publicly acknowledge the 'North Dairy Clinc' as I call it, as being wonderful medical care providers, and always accessible, friendly and courteous. I will continue to receive care from them until I find a new Doctor.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Does it 'do' anything?
"Do the doors open? Are there lights?" and my all-time favorite, "Does it go?" Of course there are lights, and the doors open to a magical world, and yes, when powered by creativity and imagination, it does 'go.' Does it take batteries, no. Are it's many features visible to the adult naked eye? Probably not. But to a child, this truck does all of these things and more. The recycling truck doubles as an ambulance, and the dump truck often brings a load of extra fire fighters to the scene of the emergency.
Now lets set aside for a moment, that the trucks in question are made entirely of recycled plastic from Milk Jugs. Lets set aside that they are minimally packaged in recyled/recyclable cardboard; and set aside that their durable construction will mean this toy will last for generations. Lets set aside that every pound of recycled plastic used by GreenToys to create these trucks saves enough energy to run a laptop computer for a month, or a television for three weeks. Lets set aside also, the fact that this toy saved countless Milk Jugs, the non-refundable beverage containers, from a landfill. Lets get back to whether or not it does anything...
As adults, we forget what imagination is. We don't give kids enough credit for what they will dream up when left to their own devices. Unstructured play is an essential part of childhood, and we are robbing our children of it when we turn on the television, or set them up with electronic toys programmed by an adult to provide the same response/reaction every time the button/switch is activated.
Studies by the University of Michigan's Survey Research Center
state that since the late 1970s, children have lost 12
hours per week in free time, including a 25 percent drop in play and
a 50 percent drop in unstructured outdoor activities.
hours per week in free time, including a 25 percent drop in play and
a 50 percent drop in unstructured outdoor activities.
An article witten back in 2002, by Karen McPherson also outlines the necessity of this:
Parents, do you want to increase your children'sDid I ever tell my parents I was bored as a kid? Oh yes. Many times. But now, as an adult, do I remember any of the boredom, remember ever not having something to do, or remember wanting the latest, high-tech flashy toys? Nope.
academic potential, social skills and creativity? Let them experience
boredom.
That's the advice of child development specialists who want to see
American children spend more time in unstructured play and less
time in structured activities or zoned out in front of an electronic
screen.
Giving your children a break from organized activities and
electronic baby-sitters could very well mean sentencing them to
boredom, at least at first.
But experts say that when deprived of anything else to do, children
will find a way to amuse themselves -- even if it means simply
daydreaming.
And that's exactly the point: letting children use their own creativity
to fill some of their time. In the process, they will be giving a
workout to their mental, emotional and social skills.
"Parents worry about kids' boredom, so they schedule their lives to
keep them busy," says Alvin Rosenfeld, a child psychiatrist who is
co-author, with Nicole Wise, of "The Over-scheduled Child."
"But empty hours teach children how to create their own
happiness."
Richard Louv, senior editor of the Washington, D.C.-based group
Connect for Kids, adds that "children need adults in their lives who
understand the relationship between boredom and creativity -- and
are willing to set the stage so that kids can create the play."
Parents can help children get the most out of unstructured play by
ensuring their safety and keeping the electronic screens turned off.
Parents also might provide materials (paints, clay, etc.) and even
gentle suggestions, if necessary. A good new source of ideas is the
book "Family Fun Boredom Busters," edited by Deanna Cook. Other
books can easily be found in a local library.
This is what I remember....
As a kid, and with embarrassment I say, into my 'tween years, I played constantly with the old-style Fisher Price Little People. I would use my wooden train set (taken apart) and a stack of music-cassette cases to build classrooms, and pretend the people were in class, and choir, and all sorts of things. I loved it. Controlling 20 tiny people all at the same time. Dream come true. Did I play with the countless LP playsets my parents bought me? Once in a while. Did I drive them around in the LP cars? not usually. Did I line them up and sort them based on hair colour, shirt colour, height, and gender? Yep. Did I ever get bored of it? Nope.
My other favourite thing to do was play at the beach. I had all sorts of pretend games. I would use rocks to crush plants and shells, and pretend I was a medicine-woman, healing all the sick children. I would make salads for my family from all of the greenery along the shore. My older brother and I would build elaborate sand castles complete with bridges and tunnels, roads, rooms, and caves. We would race matchbox cars around our sand 'race tracks.' And my dad, Oh my Dad. He would use his huge steel shovel to build kid-size castles and forts on the sand bars, and we would spend the whole day building them, perfecting the design to accomodate more kids, or more sand, and then spend an hour trying to defend our creation from the returning tide. In vain of course, as well-designed as our structures were, they only lasted the day, and that was alright.
I could speculate that the unstructured play skills I learned as a child have shaped who I am. I still love the beach, but now I am the one building the forts with the giant shovel. Now, instead of my toy cars racing around the sand, it is my dog, and it still gives me the same sense of joy. I still compile local greenery into salads for my family, and cooking gives me a great sense of pride and caring. My siblings and I still create elaborate plans, but now they are for successful businesses. And allowing my creations to be washed away with the tide every day, well maybe that is where I learned my ability to let things go with the flow.
All of that time spent at the beach has given me a passion for the Ocean and environmental activism. I want the next generation to learn the same way I did, by teaching themselves.
So, "Does it do anything?" It does something for me, does it do something for you?
Friday, November 12, 2010
A little info....
I wonder sometimes, what my purpose is in this life. And then my phone rings. It's my dad. He needs me to pick up the kids at school, in 10 minutes, meanwhile, I am across town, 20 minutes away. I race to the car, dog in-tow, and hear my phone ring again as I put the keys in the ignition. It's my sister, she would like to know if I can go to the post office for her, before it closes, in an hour and a half. "Sure," I say, speeding out of my parking spot.
I almost hit a cyclist as I try to make it on time for school pick up. Luckily, I have the slowest siblings in the known universe, so I know that despite my being ten minutes late, they will still be changing into their 'outdoor' shoes, and packing a pile of wasteful paper notices into their backpacks.
Trying to get the kids into the car, while not letting the dog out of the car, can be a challenge. Someone ends up getting scratched in the face, and they cry the whole way home. Oh well, at least they get home. Say a quick hello to Mom and Dad, grab a banana, and out the door.
Off to sissy's house to ship whatever she needs taken to the post office this time.
As I pull in the driveway, I see a lady with two kids hanging off of her standing in the doorway. Wonderful. Customers. I put on my smile, and try to squeeze through the tiny entrance to help settle the screaming child inside the house. It's my niece, and she wants 'Maya.' Maya is my dog, and I can't remember whether I left her in the car, or at my parent's house. Whatever, she's got a tag on her collar. That doesn't help settle my niece, but I know the secret weapon. I run upstairs to find the hidden box of baby bribes- Cheerios. The regular old, not organic, too much packaging, sugary Cheerios. Works every time. I read baby a story, noting that the time is ticking by until the post office closes.
"What took you so long??" Sissy asks as she comes up the stairs 15 minutes later. I shake my head, and mention that I don't see the package anywhere. She motions to a pile of cloth diapers on the kitchen counter.
"Do you have a box?" I ask, knowing the answer already.
"There was one- somewhere, do you see it?" exactly what I expected. I begin looking for a box, when I hear it again...."Maya Maya Maya" and I am reminded that I am not exactly sure of the whereabouts of my dog. There's the box, under the laundry pile on the couch! I give her credit, it is just the right size. I pick off the dried-on banana that is attached to it, shove the diapers in, and begin the quest for the packing tape. Fifteen minutes till post office close. I ask where the packing tape is, and whether she has printed the label. No, and no. I log into the Canada Post website, and ask her to put the right address in. She doesn't answer. I turn around, and she is gone. Knowing that getting her to help me is a lost coause, and knowing that it will be my fault if I don't get to the post office before it closes, I log into her email, print the label, and grab enough cash to send it. I'll buy packing tape at the post office.
I yell salutations as I close the door behind myself. Phones ringing. Please God, let it not be someone calling to say they found my dog. It's not, Its work. Real work. wanting to know if I can come in tomorrow. I already told Dad I would take my sister to her therapy appointment. Ugh. I hate passing up paid work for unpaid work.
I run, to the post office, toting my big brown package, thinking that I will get there faster without driving through rush hour traffic. I manage to avoid being hit by the motorcyclist making the illegal turn around the barracade. And as I open the post office door, I almost crash into an eldery man, standing at the the back of the line-up, that is about 15 people long. Lovely.
5:05pm, and I am being served by the lady at the counter. She tells me I need to get a new ink cartridge for my printer, as they won't accept it if the type gets any lighter. I apologize for the printer, not mine as it is, and promise a new cartridge before we ship again. She gives me a speech about how she doesn't even have to take it as is, and I smile, and apologize, and smile, and apologize, until finally she picks it up and turns to put it in the back room. I turn around, and begin my peaceful walk back to my sissys house.
Phone rings. Mom this time. Am I coming over for dinner?
"I don't know, is my dog there?"
"I don't think so...oh wait....no...I don't think so."
Wonderful. I walk around the corner, and there, in my car, is my dog. Thank goodness it's fall, and she's not overheating. No, she's chewing on my seats. Lovely.
I get in the car, only to the phone ringing again. I wonder if I should even bother looking at it. I do. It's work again. They want to know if I can come in tonight, now. Sure, I say.
I drive across town, again, to drop the dog off at home, and back across town to work. "Low Fuel" light illuminates on my dash. Lovely!
I pull in the driveway at the house I am to work at tonight, as the parents walk out the front door.
"He's all ready for Bed!" they say, as if to hint that tonight their Autism-affected son might just go to be without a fight. Ha. Yeah right.
I am greeted with a smile, and a big hug, and the inevitable question, "Can we go to the park?"
It is challenging to explain to a 4 year old, that already having your pyjamas on is a good enough reason not to go to he park. He is not impressed. "Go Outside?" He pleads.
I agree to take him out on the deck to look at the stars. We get out there, only to see that the cloud cover is blocking our view. I explain to him that the stars are not visible, and he argues that they are simply, "not out yet," and wants to wait for them to come out.
We are still out on the deck discussing whether the stars are or are not out yet, when my phone rings. Dad again. Wants to make sure I'm "still on" for tomorrow mornings appointment. I tell him that as long as I survive this evening, I'll be there.
I try to coherse the 4 year old that it is in fact bedtime, despite the stars not being out yet. He does not believe me about the bedtime bit, but seems relieved that I admit the stars aren't out yet.
I have him settled in bed, when the phone rings again. It's one of my other family's, from work. Their teenage foster son has run away from home again, and they fear that he is downtown trying to get drugs or alcohol. They ask if I will go look for him. I explain my situation, I am already working, and they ask if I mind to put the 4 year old in the car, and go look for him. I actually have to explain how inapropriate that is, and what an unrealistic expectation that is to have for me. They apologize, crying, saying "We just don't know what else to do!!"
That is the story of my life.
I almost hit a cyclist as I try to make it on time for school pick up. Luckily, I have the slowest siblings in the known universe, so I know that despite my being ten minutes late, they will still be changing into their 'outdoor' shoes, and packing a pile of wasteful paper notices into their backpacks.
Trying to get the kids into the car, while not letting the dog out of the car, can be a challenge. Someone ends up getting scratched in the face, and they cry the whole way home. Oh well, at least they get home. Say a quick hello to Mom and Dad, grab a banana, and out the door.
Off to sissy's house to ship whatever she needs taken to the post office this time.
As I pull in the driveway, I see a lady with two kids hanging off of her standing in the doorway. Wonderful. Customers. I put on my smile, and try to squeeze through the tiny entrance to help settle the screaming child inside the house. It's my niece, and she wants 'Maya.' Maya is my dog, and I can't remember whether I left her in the car, or at my parent's house. Whatever, she's got a tag on her collar. That doesn't help settle my niece, but I know the secret weapon. I run upstairs to find the hidden box of baby bribes- Cheerios. The regular old, not organic, too much packaging, sugary Cheerios. Works every time. I read baby a story, noting that the time is ticking by until the post office closes.
"What took you so long??" Sissy asks as she comes up the stairs 15 minutes later. I shake my head, and mention that I don't see the package anywhere. She motions to a pile of cloth diapers on the kitchen counter.
"Do you have a box?" I ask, knowing the answer already.
"There was one- somewhere, do you see it?" exactly what I expected. I begin looking for a box, when I hear it again...."Maya Maya Maya" and I am reminded that I am not exactly sure of the whereabouts of my dog. There's the box, under the laundry pile on the couch! I give her credit, it is just the right size. I pick off the dried-on banana that is attached to it, shove the diapers in, and begin the quest for the packing tape. Fifteen minutes till post office close. I ask where the packing tape is, and whether she has printed the label. No, and no. I log into the Canada Post website, and ask her to put the right address in. She doesn't answer. I turn around, and she is gone. Knowing that getting her to help me is a lost coause, and knowing that it will be my fault if I don't get to the post office before it closes, I log into her email, print the label, and grab enough cash to send it. I'll buy packing tape at the post office.
I yell salutations as I close the door behind myself. Phones ringing. Please God, let it not be someone calling to say they found my dog. It's not, Its work. Real work. wanting to know if I can come in tomorrow. I already told Dad I would take my sister to her therapy appointment. Ugh. I hate passing up paid work for unpaid work.
I run, to the post office, toting my big brown package, thinking that I will get there faster without driving through rush hour traffic. I manage to avoid being hit by the motorcyclist making the illegal turn around the barracade. And as I open the post office door, I almost crash into an eldery man, standing at the the back of the line-up, that is about 15 people long. Lovely.
5:05pm, and I am being served by the lady at the counter. She tells me I need to get a new ink cartridge for my printer, as they won't accept it if the type gets any lighter. I apologize for the printer, not mine as it is, and promise a new cartridge before we ship again. She gives me a speech about how she doesn't even have to take it as is, and I smile, and apologize, and smile, and apologize, until finally she picks it up and turns to put it in the back room. I turn around, and begin my peaceful walk back to my sissys house.
Phone rings. Mom this time. Am I coming over for dinner?
"I don't know, is my dog there?"
"I don't think so...oh wait....no...I don't think so."
Wonderful. I walk around the corner, and there, in my car, is my dog. Thank goodness it's fall, and she's not overheating. No, she's chewing on my seats. Lovely.
I get in the car, only to the phone ringing again. I wonder if I should even bother looking at it. I do. It's work again. They want to know if I can come in tonight, now. Sure, I say.
I drive across town, again, to drop the dog off at home, and back across town to work. "Low Fuel" light illuminates on my dash. Lovely!
I pull in the driveway at the house I am to work at tonight, as the parents walk out the front door.
"He's all ready for Bed!" they say, as if to hint that tonight their Autism-affected son might just go to be without a fight. Ha. Yeah right.
I am greeted with a smile, and a big hug, and the inevitable question, "Can we go to the park?"
It is challenging to explain to a 4 year old, that already having your pyjamas on is a good enough reason not to go to he park. He is not impressed. "Go Outside?" He pleads.
I agree to take him out on the deck to look at the stars. We get out there, only to see that the cloud cover is blocking our view. I explain to him that the stars are not visible, and he argues that they are simply, "not out yet," and wants to wait for them to come out.
We are still out on the deck discussing whether the stars are or are not out yet, when my phone rings. Dad again. Wants to make sure I'm "still on" for tomorrow mornings appointment. I tell him that as long as I survive this evening, I'll be there.
I try to coherse the 4 year old that it is in fact bedtime, despite the stars not being out yet. He does not believe me about the bedtime bit, but seems relieved that I admit the stars aren't out yet.
I have him settled in bed, when the phone rings again. It's one of my other family's, from work. Their teenage foster son has run away from home again, and they fear that he is downtown trying to get drugs or alcohol. They ask if I will go look for him. I explain my situation, I am already working, and they ask if I mind to put the 4 year old in the car, and go look for him. I actually have to explain how inapropriate that is, and what an unrealistic expectation that is to have for me. They apologize, crying, saying "We just don't know what else to do!!"
That is the story of my life.
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