Rant

I'm about to rant.

Years ago I heard of someone who boycotted Calvin Klein products because of their provocative ads. Not being knowledgeable of the fashion industry (and quite frankly not caring), I was curious and started looking for these ads in magazines. And I agreed. I admired the stance of this person and took up their "cause". To my knowledge (I say that in case they manufacture items that do not directly bear their name), I have never bought anything made by Calvin Klein.

I admit I am blissfully ignorant about the fashion industry - by choice. It's my personal opinion that the pursuit of fashion is every bit as worldly as....let's say.....watching television. That's not to say that I've never worn any "name brand" items, but I have only done so because they've been on sale and not because I just had to have name brand (which is what I mean about pursuit of fashion). I am not ashamed to buy anything from Superstore, Wal-Mart, Zellers or thrift stores.

I am also quite aware that I've likely worn name brands manufactured by such like Calvin Klein purely in ignorance (like I said, just because I could care less). However, if something similarly perverse would ever have been brought to my attention, I would have happily boycotted the product.

I will not be a slave to fashion.

The reason for my ire is because of the controversy in local news about the outlet American Apparel. The controversy that makes Calvin Klein look angelic in comparison. It started out when a producer at the local radio station blogged about the store, having picked up on a story about a BC woman and her experience. Apparently the woman took her 13-year-old daughter to American Apparel and was disturbed to find that they sold a gay porno magazine that was accessible to anyone. She flipped through the magazine herself and witnessed several very disturbing sexual scenes between two men. The story worked it's way to our fair city even further today, being reported in the news.

Apparently the original producer who blogged on this story yesterday visited the location in our city. She confirmed that there were indeed copies of this magazine, uncellophaned, easily readable to the public. This is in a clothing outlet store that sells clothing to babies, kids, mothers, fathers and TEENAGERS.

Perhaps you can understand my rant.

I have not been in the store to confirm her story. I now NEVER INTEND TO. However, in searching online, some very, very sick, disturbing ads are easily accessible to the public. This is not even yet touching on the gay porno magazine they sell at their store. I also read about CEO, Dov Charney, who is a sickening pervert, and readily admits to using porno ads because "sex sells".

I am writing about this to make people aware, especially those with children. I do not believe many of the people who read my blog would choose to support a store such as this, and would certainly not want their children exposed to such perversion.

I am writing this in the hopes that if any youth or young people are patrons of this store, that they seriously reconsider their support. Stinking, rotten, filthy garbage such as this cannot succeed if people were to actually stop buying from them.

Please, folks. Do not try to throw comparisons at me like: What about the internet and it's garbage? While there are certainly legitimate concerns with the internet, it is not the SAME issue as I am speaking of. Lets keep apples apples, and oranges oranges. Please. I'll even blog about the filth of the internet at a future date, if you want.

There. I've had my rant.

Interesting Day

Today my girl was a sweetheart again. She "felt like getting stuff done and helping" in her words, so at supper time she set the table for me. While eating, she jumped up without being asked to refill our water glasses as we needed them and told me to let her know if I needed anything else. After supper, she asked me if she could clean Seth's room (isn't there an old saying that it's much easier to clean someone else's mess than your own?? - because her room wasn't perfect).

Seth, for reasons not yet stated, had to be in bed EARLY. I was aiming for 7:00, but no later than 7:30. So, because it seems to make her really happy to be needed and to help out (and I certainly don't want to discourage that), I let her clean up Seth's room while Seth had a bath. And clean it she did. She didn't just throw the toys in the toy box and/or bins, but she organized and put them where they really belonged. She even got a ziploc baggie and put his assortment of mismatched puzzle pieces in them until they can be properly matched to the correct puzzle. As well, she pulled back his covers (like I do) so that his bed was ready for him to jump into.

Sometimes I feel that because Hannah at this point is a much more obedient child (okay, I'll admit it - she has ALWAYS been a much more obedient child) that it seems as if I favour her. From the depths of my heart, I know this is in no wise true. I appreciate her strengths because they make my life so much easier, but she is not perfect. Yesterday, for example, she had a near meltdown doing school (....shocking). She got a perfect mark on her spelling words, however, her printing has gotten very sloppy. She has gotten into the habit of rushing through school at the expense of nearly illegible printing. I warned her before her test that she would get a half mark off per word spelled if the printing was messy. She didn't listen. On EVERY word. Consequently, she got 50 percent on her spelling. However, I gave her a chance to redeem herself by printing each word on her test (36 of them) neatly. She undertook this and after her first line of words showed me. They weren't good enough, and I took out some work of hers from four months ago to prove how much neater she was then. The little turkey would not admit that she used to be neater. Anyway, she eventually completed the task properly, but only after many tears. She earned her 100 percent.

Now for Seth. Seth is more difficult and less obedient. However, he is such a lovable and comical little chap when he chooses to be, and his kisses and hugs make up for a host of sins. He certainly makes life interesting in this household.

He got up tired, but was in fine form this morning. When I saw that he decided to take his stuffed moose to the bathroom with him (he never takes his animals with him), I was curious, so I asked him why he had his moose with him, and why the moose as opposed to any of his other animals (he has a buffalo, duck, dog, elephant and kangaroo, as well as a large Tigger). His answer?

"Because the other animals were SNOTS to me this morning, mom!"

Chuckling, I asked him if he liked it when someone was snotty to him, to which he replied "no", so I told him that maybe it would be a good idea for him not to be snotty to people then, since this has been a particular problem of his.

"I'm not going to be a snot anymore, mom," he informed me seriously.

Fast forward to this afternoon. I made him lie down because he woke up tired and had a late night. I told him to go right to sleep and that he was not allowed to read. One hour went by and I had hopes that he fell asleep. Then I heard a CRASH coming from his bedroom and I knew it was the books falling out of his bookcase. I started to get up to investigate when a voice fearfully shouted:

"DO NOT COME IN HERE, MOM!"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I was in spasms of laughter.

"MOM....MOM. DON'T COME IN HERE!" his panicked voice yelled.

Truthfully, it took me a little bit to actually go check it out because I had to get myself under control. Yes, there was my little scalawag, lying on his bed in pretended innocence - although I could see that he was nervous - while all of his books lay in a heap beside him.

So, the reason he had to go to bed so early was threefold: 1) he was extremely tired, almost falling asleep on the bus; 2) he was miserable when we got home from the afternoon bus run; and 3) he disobeyed me.

He went to bed by 7:25 and fell right asleep. Before he fell asleep I told him that because Hannah was so good to him that tomorrow he would do something for Hannah, like help clean up her bedroom. I refuse to let him off so easy.

And Hannah? She got to stay up two full hours later. She had Smartie ice cream. We played two games of Uno and one game of Skip Bo. And her dad made it home in time to read her beloved Thomas the Tank Engine.

And so ends the story of my two offspring. Each unique. Both treasured.

Five Things I've Learned

Driving the bus has been more of a challenge since returning after the Christmas break. With all of the snow piled up on the side streets, ruts everywhere, and very slippery intersections, it's been difficult and slow going. By the sixth driving day, a total of 14 "incidences" involving buses (none serious) have been reported. Some were the driver's fault, and some were not. Fortunately up to this point, none of them have involved me, and for every day that is the case I am grateful.

There are a few things that I've learned since coming back in January:

1) My son apparently developed attention deficit hyperactive disorder over the Christmas break (maybe it was all the candy canes he ate - ??). He's had to be separated from his sister twice for poking, pinching or "konking" her over the head with a book, all while listening by earphones to his beloved Jungle Jam. Jungle Jam used to be enough to keep him occupied. Apparently it now is not.

2) There is no use seeing a chiropractor until the ruts are gone from the road. These ruts, or mini-Everests, can potentially cause whiplash. Money spent getting "adjusted" would need to be doled out on a daily basis, and thus a waste. Instead, investing in a case of ibuprofen from Costco would likely be more cost efficient.

3) It is not a good idea to ride on the bus without first making sure you have emptied your bladder entirely. Ruts on roads and full bladders DO NOT MIX. Trust me on this.

4) I may have to look for a lawyer shortly. While the bus was swaying back and forth trying to turn from one rutty road to another rutty road (going 20 kms per hour - no joke), I was informed by THE MOUTH of the schoolbus, an 11-year-old punk, that his parents would sue me if the bus ever tipped over. Yep. Sue me. I experienced that extremely pleasant warm-all-over feeling.

5) I have a budding Inventor on my hands. My daughter, recently bored with her usual reading on the bus (must be catchy from her brother), invented a way to get her book and mitts off the bus without touching them. She tied her scarf around her leg, and then tied a loop around her book and mitts and knotted it, and carefully limped off the bus with this "contraption" dangling. She successfully made it into the house without book or mitts falling and was very pleased with herself. I'll be contacting the Patent Office some time this week.

I have a break coming up on January 26. One day. A Monday. It can't come soon enough right now, although I still love driving the bus and love my kids.

MOST of them, anyway.

Cheers. :)

Two Tales

I don't know if I can adequately tell these two stories, but I'm going to try, hoping that they're not the "you just had to be there" variety.

A couple of days ago, Seth was in his bedroom playing while I was doing something in my bedroom (which is across from his). I happened to be looking at him in his room when he suddenly got up, ran out of his room and SLAMMED his door. He took off like lightening down the hallway, hollering at me:

"MOM, THERE'S A MONSTER IN MY BEDROOM!!"

It was totally hilarious. The poor boy was scared spitless.

I guess he must have forgotten to put on his Pajama Sam mask.

After he took off down the hall, I got on my hands and knees and stealthily crept up to his bedroom door while my son watched curiously. I got up to his door, stood up and flung it open wide, entering his room yelling, "HIIII YAAA!", all the while doing karate chops.

I thought I would for the moment be my son's hero. I was wrong. He smiled at me when I told him the monster was gone, then proceeded to tell everyone else that "Jesus scared the monster away!".

But that's okay. Jesus will scare the monster away, after all.

-------------------------------------------

We have a wonderful new (I think Jamaican - ??) couple in our church that recently moved here from Toronto. Paul and Jennifer have been a wonderful blessing to our church.

Paul obviously loves kids, and since he's been here has been trying valiantly to win Seth over. My son is the sort who has to invite you to be his friend, and so far he hasn't invited Paul. I've been warning him lately to be nice and not be a little snot (something he can be good at), so at prayer meeting on Saturday night when we pulled up to the church, the first thing he asked was, "Where's Paul?" I told him that he was inside and again warned him to be nice.

When we got inside, he told me that he didn't see him. I didn't understand this because he was in his usual place, but I answered him. After church, Paul again came over to talk to Seth, and this time Seth was a little more cooperative.

This morning while getting ready for church, Seth asked me if Paul was going to be there because he "didn't see him last night". Not comprehending, I reminded him that "yes, he did see Paul last night, remember?" Seth turned to me and said,

"Not the BROWN Paul."

"The brown Paul?" I asked (with a chuckle - I couldn't help it). "Which Paul do you mean?"

"You know, mom. Paul and Madine."

For anyone who doesn't know who Paul and Madine are, they are Brother and Sister Covill Jr. the pastor and wife from the church in Regina, whom we have known since they were teenagers. We have stayed at their house in the past, and Seth has always called Nadine either Madine or Radine. Knowing them, I'm quite sure they wouldn't mind my telling this story. It really was very funny.

Brown Paul and Paul and Madine. That's my boy. Always good for a chuckle.

The Process

Two-thirds of all Americans (so I presume Canadians are very similar) are overweight. One-third are considered obese. From a body mass index standpoint (however "accurate" BMI measurement is), your BMI should be 25 or less. If it's 25-30, you are considered overweight, and if it's between 30-40 you are considered obese. If it's over 40 you are considered morbidly obese. That means only one-third of all Americans/Canadians are considered to be a healthy weight. It is predicted that at this current rate of increase of obesity, that by the year 2030, over 80 percent of Americans/Canadians will be obese.

And that means that our children face a shorter life span than we do, unless they are in the 20 percent category.

I'm writing about something I never thought I'd write about. Because of my own weight problems, this is very personal to me, and I've never been very open about it. Even my own husband does not know what I weigh.

This is January and weight loss resolutions are rampant. I've been reading other people's blogs about weight loss goals (and God bless them). I have also done some recent research about weight loss and obesity.

I have fallen short on numerous occasions and I struggle to "get back on the wagon". This year I did not make a resolution because past failures cloud my view.

And yet the faces of my young children, AND their future, are ever before me.

Eating for "comfort" is the most common reason to overeat. So I ask myself if this is true, why do I need food for comfort when I know the Comforter? Then I beat myself up for not leaning on the Comforter for my help, and so I "fall off the wagon". And the cycle continues.

Because we cannot live without eating, I think the addiction of food is more difficult to overcome than other addictions, like drugs or alcohol (please do not throw stones at me because I am not lessening the difficulty of overcoming those addictions). Let's face it, we have to discipline ourselves daily to avoid eating what we shouldn't while still having to eat. That's tough.

I've been thinking about people that I know who are not overweight BECAUSE of self-discipline. NOT the ones who have good genes and can eat anything they want without gaining weight - there's a difference. But those who by manner of lifestyle and choice have won this battle. Have you ever noticed how many of these people are self-disciplined in general? Take the tongue, for instance. We know what the Bible says about the tongue. It's the most unruly member of our body and can cause no end of trouble. Why? Because we talk. All the time. Daily. Communication is essential to living (like food). It's something we have to do (if we are able to) and yet, it's the most unruly member of our body.

Unless you're self-disciplined. Period. The people I know who are self-disciplined about their weight are generally self-disciplined with their mouth. (Yeah, there are exceptions, I know, but that's why I said generally.)

So the cat's out of the bag. I am undisciplined (like it wasn't obvious). And why is discipline so hard for me? It's because I fight the process and am impatient for instant results. And, I hate repeated failure and haven't figured out that I'm a bigger failure to NOT TRY than to try and fail, try and fail repeatedly, while continuing the process.

I think (I hope) that I've finally gotten the revelation that growth of any kind is a process. No battles are won without some failure along the way. Life is walking three steps forward and one step backward. I have got to learn to be content with the process, because as long as I'm taking snail-size steps forward, I am succeeding. And for me, that is the key.

This year my goal is to learn not to fight the process. The process that is necessary to lose weight (and lifestyle change in general); the process that is necessary to govern my tongue - because I think they're both of pretty equal importance. Whatever the goal is, it's a process. And the process and not fighting against it, is my goal. I believe that my life will change dramatically if I can just learn this one thing.

The faces of my babies are ever before me.

**NOTE**: Now that's I've reread this in the morning light, it sounds a little bit mumbo-jumbo. I hope the general point can be understood.

The Race

After an afternoon of fun playing in their bedrooms, the living room and under the dining room table (where else could one possibly play "drive-thru"?), I advised my kidlets that it was time to clean up. Realizing that they had some hearing issues, I repeated my request, but this time with a dire warning: "Uh, darlings, if you're desirous of any ice cream before bed, you're going to have to stop what you're doing now and clean up. With no more fooling around. Serious. No joke."

Hannah immediately set to work. Seth went to his bedroom, leaving the much tougher task of cleaning up under the dining room table to Hannah (although it was most of her stuff), and promptly got busy.....playing. After catching him at least a half dozen times playing and not cleaning his room, and giving him a full 15 minutes to start, I told him that I was setting the timer for ten minutes. That's it. He had ten minutes to clean his room or he wouldn't get ice cream.

Thus the whining began.

And the race was on.

Lest I seem heartless, this is not a new issue with Seth. I knew if he concentrated that he should have no problem cleaning his room in ten minutes because it really wasn't that bad. Unfortunately, it seems to take something this drastic to light a spark under him.

It took only about 30 seconds for him to start his usual, "mom, I need your help!" line. This time I refused. Both his dad and I help him about 90 percent of the time when he asks, which is probably 50 percent too much. This time I resolved that should he not complete his task in the allotted time that he would suffer the consequences.

That is, until Hannah started her campaign.

I absolutely love Hannah's tenderheartedness. When Seth is hurt and crying, she often cries with him (not out of anxiety, but out of true compassion). Not long ago Seth fell and banged his nose on the floor. Hannah promptly started crying, so I reassured her that Seth was going to be fine. She informed me, however, that the reason she was crying was because she was the cause of his fall (albeit accidentally) and she felt bad about it.

So, at about the seven-minutes-to-go mark, my little softie started begging me to let her help Seth finish his room. At first I said no. I really felt that if necessary, Seth had to learn the hard way. She persisted and I became torn. I thought: What is more important? Teaching Seth a lesson (that he likely won't learn anyway), or endorsing my girl's desire to help? After a moment's contemplation, I told her that she could help him, but that she wasn't to do it all, because this is also a favorite pastime of his.

And what do you know? With 45 seconds to spare, they cleaned up his room. Big sister pitched in, all the while encouraging little brother along, and together they did the job. And all three of us were happy. Big sister got to help and encourage her little brother, little brother got some help AND worked alongside his big sister, and mom was happy that the work got done.

We all had ice cream. Hannah got a BIG thank you hug from Seth. Everyone had the warm fuzzies.

The evening ended perfectly with daddy coming home just in time to read Thomas The Tank - we have a huge book of a kazillion stories - not one story, not two stories (my usual amount), but FIVE stories!

Hmm.....for some reason, they really, really like it when daddy makes it home in time to read Thomas to them. Can't imagine why.

My Boy

After posting a couple of times about my son's frustrating behaviour, I thought I should balance it out by letting the world know that in the last couple of days, he has been adorable, funny, cute and especially sweet.

While getting dressed this morning (which happens by getting one arm out of his jammies, bouncing a couple of times, getting the other arm out, bouncing a few more times.....EVERY morning) he surprised me by saying:

"I'm very grateful that you are my mommy!" followed by, "I love you, mommy!" This landed him several hugs and kisses and turned my knees to jelly. He told me he loved me several times today, in fact. He always tells me he loves me when I first say it to him, but rarely does he say it first.

Tonight after our usual night time ritual, he called me back to his room to tell me:

"Mommy, I'm going to come into your room and sleep with you tonight."

"No, you are going to sleep in your own bed tonight," I reply (although not so firmly - which he knows).

"Nope, mommy. I'm going to sneak into your room and climb into bed with you!" he says with a grin.

Of course I laugh. And he likely will try to sneak in with us. And I'll let him. Because, after all, he LOVES ME and is GRATEFUL that I'm his mommy.

There is a good chance he'll get his way quite often when he speaks to me like he did today.

Oh, how I love my boy.

NOTE: **My boy did sleep with us beginning @ 4:15 a.m. He didn't even have to try to sneak in with us. All he had to do was wet his bed. Yep. Much more pleasant to deal with than merely sneaking in with us.