I live in Canada.

In a country that as of October 17, 2018, has legalized pot.

What the hell are we thinking?

Haven't we spent decades teaching about addiction?

How many lectures and tv ads did we watch in the 1980's about how we were just supposed to say no?

How many friends have I watched destroy their lives by smoking pot every day?

We know that habitual drug use is bad for us, and yet, somehow, the Prime Minister of this country thinks it's a good idea to make this crap legal.

Because it will kill the drug trade, he says.

Um, no. No, it won't.

Because the legal pot is only going to be sold in a select few places across the country. Which means that most Canadian potheads are still going to get their poison from their regular drug dealer. And for cheaper than buying it in a government run store.

And it's still going to be garbage that kills you.

"Pot doesn't kill", say some. "You can't o.d. on weed."

But you can get paranoid. You can stop caring about anything other than getting high every day. You can stop caring about personal hygiene. You can start using other drugs and alcohol to get high. Which can, and does, lead to death.

Some days you gotta wonder, just how stupid are some people?

Write.

For years, I have sat in prayer, and asked God to tell me what He wants me to do with my life.

The answer is always the same.

Write.

But what?

That's what I always come back with.

What do you want me to write?

It's strange for someone who can sit and blather on for a very long time about almost nothing to be unable to think of words to put down on paper (ok, type) when she sits to work.

Does that make sense?

Sigh.

Probably not.

Not a lot of my life makes sense right now.

I am not where I thought I would be when I pictured this moment in life.

I turned 50 almost exactly six months ago,

This was supposed to be my year.

I turned 50.

Oldest kid turned 18 and graduated from high school.

Second kid turned 16. 

20th wedding anniversary.

All these big things, none of which has turned out exactly how I envisioned they would.

Does it ever?

Really?

I mean, does life ever turn out the way we hope or plan?

I have a friend who seems to be sinking deeper and deeper into a depression.  She has had sick parents and in-laws to deal with, on-going fights with siblings, an economy that seems to have knocked her down more times than you can count - well, I guess that's all of us, really - but as I was listening to her talk about the stuff she's had to deal with lately, I started to wonder, "Is this all there is? We get a few good years here and there, and then we get shipped off to depressing spaces where we lose our memory and our autonomy?"

I don't want my life to look like that. "Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light..." (Dylan Thomas)

The meaning of Thomas' poem is clearly about living life to the fullest.

I can't say I've been doing that.

But I want to.

And I'm going to.

It's been a few years since I've posted anything on here.

Life has taken quite a few twists and turns.

Which, I suppose, is to be expected.

I'm 50 now.

I am supposed to be wiser, or so I've been told.

I was called an "older woman" the other day, and I nearly choked on my coffee.

I know that technically, I am middle-aged.

I don't feel it.

And yes, in fact, I am older than the other woman I was talking to, but that phrase really didn't, and doesn't, sit well with me.

I still feel like I'm in my 30's.

Ha!

Unless I live to be 100 years old, I'm more than halfway through my life.

That's a pretty sobering thought.

Kate Upton Enters Our Lives...

I think my almost 11 year old son has a crush on Kate Upton.

For the last few days, the three youngest children have been obsessed with the website Kahoot (https://kahoot.it)...a site where you can create your own quiz. They make up their own questions (and answers) and then using your smartphone and/or a laptop, the questions can be answered by any number of players.

I encourage them to make up these quizzes. I figure, hey, why not? They're doing research, they're engaging with others, not just playing video games where they smash and burn and do whatever the heck it is they do in their games...

And then last night, Jamie wanted the rest of us to play and answer his latest quiz...and so we did...a quiz that had 41 questions to it, I might add...and I started noticing how many times "Kate Upton" was an answer choice...she wasn't ever the answer, but at least 10 times in the quiz, the lovely Kate's name showed up...

Did I mention that he's not quite 11?

Should I be worried?

Hmm...

If You Don't Have Something Nice To Say...

My husband is a journalist. One who has a nightly show where he gets to talk about the things that are going on in the world. He gets to spout off about things that annoy him, or amuse him...mainly, though, he talks about politics and politicians and how they're mucking up the world we live in. Some people agree with him, many do not, but they are all entitled to their opinions.

Brian, like most people today, has a Facebook account, is on Twitter and even has an Instagram account, where, in the interest of drumming up a "following", he re-posts and comments about the same things he discusses on his show.

Like I said, a lot of people love him and agree with him and then there are the ones who don't...

Now, I'm not saying that you need to agree with everything my husband says (heck, some days I don't agree with everything he says), and if you don't, he (and I) would encourage you to share your dissent in a thoughtful and polite manner...a healthy debate, if you will...

Which is why I get so angry I can barely see straight when some jackass decides to call my husband all kinds of nasty names and insinuate that he's doing the nasty with our prime minister and every other member of the Conservative caucus...all because they don't agree with Brian's position on something (anything, it seems)...

And the glee at the possible downfall of a man who supports his wife and four children is disgusting...

I get it. You think that because we are conservatives, both socially and fiscally, that we somehow deserve to be spit upon. You proclaim (very loudly, I might add) about how we all need to be treated equally and that we all deserve fairness and kindness.

Unless it's a conservative. Then all bets are off and you show your true colours.

How is our not wanting the government to tell us how to eat, sleep, breathe and raise our children a terrible thing?

Why should my husband, who works his ass off, have to give away almost half his paycheque to pay for social programs that don't work and are really just a chance for our bloated government to get more money out of the taxpayers instead of cutting some of their damned jobs and overspending?

I'm Supposed To Be...All Over Myself...

I'm supposed to be writing.
I'm supposed to be cleaning the house.
I'm supposed to be working out.
I'm supposed to be doing a million little things that don't really matter in the end.
Will the world come to an end if the laundry isn't folded perfectly?
Will the people who love me really think I have suddenly turned into a terrible person if I don't vacuum or dust this place every single day?
Will the world stop turning if I am not perfect? If I don't even attempt perfection anymore?
Because you know, it really is exhausting trying to be Martha-freaking-Stewart all the time.
I tried. I really did. For a long time. I worried about how the pillows looked on the sofa and on the bed. I flipped out if the curtains weren't opened the "right" way. I tried to control every single aspect of my life, because when you feel like you have no control over anything else, you turn to the things you can control.
The problem is when you stop controlling just things and try to control people. People don't like to be controlled. They usually rebel and for some strange reason, won't do what you think they should do. Funny, huh?
Not really.
I wasn't like this a few years ago. Things started getting crazy around here with the birth of the twins. That was nearly 11 years ago. And even in their first few years, things were busy, but not out of control. But in the last few years? In the last few years, my world has gone batshit crazy. And I felt like I had no control at all. So it became easier to focus on the things that could be controlled. Like pillows. Pillows don't talk back when you tell them to stay. Pillows don't throw temper tantrums that destroy walls and rearrange rooms. Pillows don't tell you they hate you, that you're a terrible mother, wife, friend, sister, daughter (insert whatever description fits). Pillows don't make you feel like you're a screw-up beyond all screw-ups.
Until you walk back into the living room and find that somehow the little buggers have ended up on the floor again, and then you stand there and yell at them, "Why the hell can't you just do what you're told?"
And for some reason, the pillows don't answer.
And then you know you've gone off the deep end.

That was the day last summer when I decided that I needed to make a few changes. I didn't tell anyone, not even my husband, that I had made a few important decisions. Like not caring anymore if the house doesn't look absolutely perfect. (I've adopted a friend's saying, "Excuse the mess, we live here.")
I've stopped trying to control every little thing and everyone. I have come to realize that my life is nearly (probably) half over and I'll be damned if I'm going to waste any more time on the pursuit of an ideal that has nothing to do with who I actually am...I am messy and complicated and beautiful...perfectly folded jeans or not...
And the pillows?
Well, they can throw themselves wherever the hell they want...

The Other Language Issue...

Apparently, I have a potty mouth.

My husband does not suffer from this condition.

Brian has been trained (that whole journalist thing) to choose his words carefully and to remember that "the mic is always live".

He learned this years ago when we lived in Montreal and he was working for a now-defunct radio station.  One day in the newsroom, the anchor read out the news as he normally did. On this particular afternoon, once the newscast was done, he sat back in his chair, and let out a stream of profanities, at which several of his coworkers laughed (my husband not one of them). Suddenly, the manager's door opened, and out stormed a very unhappy looking man.

"You should always remember," he sternly informed the newsroom. "The mic is always live."

Phone line after phone line lit up with angry listeners who had heard the blue words and the newscaster in question was made to apologize on air for his inappropriate behaviour.

"Bah," I thought, when Brian told me what had happened. "Who cares? Is this really what people are worried about? With everything else going on in the world?"

An attitude I maintained for nearly 13 years...until I heard the same words that I have used repeatedly coming out of my now 14 year old's mouth...

Shocked? Yes.  Should I have been? No, obviously not. But somehow, it did not occur to me that the language that I used (especially when something annoyed me-which, let's face it, is frequently)would come back to bite me in the proverbial butt.

For the last few years, I have been listening to my children point out when someone else (usually in a movie or on a tv show) "takes the name of the Lord in vain"...their words, not mine...and surprisingly, not the curse words I generally choose...and I've been telling them, "yes, they did, try to let it go, not everyone has the same beliefs that we do..."

Ai-yai-yai...is that not the pot calling the kettle black?

My kids hate it when I curse. And yet, I've continued doing it, telling them, as my father always used to say to my brother and sisters and I, "Do as I say, not as I do..."

And then last Saturday, when my in-laws were in town visiting, the adults went out to dinner, leaving the children at home for a couple of hours (we have two kids who are old enough to babysit, so no comments about how-could-you-leave-them-alone please and thank you).  When we came home to find the house still standing and that no blood had been shed, we were pleasantly surprised and grateful that we had been able to enjoy our dinner without incident.

Until the three younger children spilled the beans that the oldest had told them all to go "f*&% themselves" because they didn't want to watch Dr. Who with him.

And then came this kicker: "What? Mama uses the f word all the time!"

Well, no, no I don't, but clearly I have used it far more often than I think...

And so, in the interest of being a better person (and trying to set an example for the little people who are so obviously paying attention to every. single. thing. I. say. or. do.), I am trying not to swear.

 As I have said to the children, I am supposedly highly educated and really should know better and so I will keep trying to be better than I have been when it comes to the English language.

But you know what? It's an effing hard habit to break...like most bad habits...and it's one day at a time...

Is there a 12 step program for this?

I didn't think so...sigh...