For those that followed my older blog, you will be familiar with this piece...for those new to the Stepford Family, please enjoy. I would request all readers to take a moment of reflection to remember all of those who fought in wars of yesterday, and who fight today to protect the innocent, the weak...who are the very reasons that we are able to live the lives we do today.
This is especially personal this year, as my eldest son has decided to join our Armed Forces. May God watch over him, keep him safe.
A Promise To Keep
According to my eldest daughter, my husband and I are weird. Nobody else's parents insist that they attend Remembrance Day ceremonies, she protests. Be it on television, or in person, my husband and I insist that our family solemnly observe the day by attending ceremonies. For my husband, its a strongly held belief, bolstered by his grandfather having served in World War II. For myself, its something that I've always held to be sacred, believing that those that forget history are doomed to repeat it. Its also about a promise I made, almost thirteen years ago now. Every year since, when observing the Ceremony, I remember back to that one Remembrance Day that ensured that as long as I live, I will attend, observe, and do my very best to instill in my children the importance of the day.
I was a single parent then, working, struggling to meet our day to day expenses while still ensuring that I was there for my son. It was a juggling act at best, and I was known at work for always being available for shifts, so when I went in and booked Remembrance Day off, it came as a shock to my supervisor. “It's just Remembrance Day,” she protested. I couldn't make her understand that it was something that I simply had to observe, to teach my child about. He was only three at the time, and to him, Mommy having a day off work was a novelty, and I found myself attempting to explain why Mommy had taken the day off.
It wasn't easy, explaining to a 3 year old about the purpose of the day. As we rode the bus that chilly November morning, I did my best to explain to him, in preschooler terms, what Remembrance Day was about. Explaining that our 'good guys' had to go to war and fight the 'bad guys' so that people could be safe. I felt like I was walking a tightrope between wanting my child to understand the sanctity of the day without frightening him or glorifying violence. Explaining why the 'good guys' used guns when he wasn't allowed to play with them had me trying to explain 'big bad vs little bad' . I wondered if perhaps this had been a bad idea, if my child were too young to really understand, but on we went to the Cenotaph.
Standing on the sheltered bridge over the Cenotaph, watching the ceremony, my son's questions continued. I answered him, noticing a Veteran watching us from the corner of his eye. I felt self conscious, concerned that we were disrupting this gentleman's observance of the service. I mouthed, “Sorry” to him, and thankfully, he smiled and nodded at me.
After the ceremony ended, I gathered my courage, walked over to the Veteran and shook his hand.
“Thank you, Sir, for everything you did.”
"I was glad to do it." He replied.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Sir? We're just going to get some hot chocolate and a coffee, would you like to join us?”
He thanked me for my offer, but declined, so we turned to walk away. Just then he called to me.
"You asked if there was anything you could do..."
"Yes Sir?"
Fastening his eyes on my child, he said quietly, "Please...don't let him forget."
Somehow, I managed to speak around the lump in my throat, and whispered, "No Sir...I won't."
Years later, I met and married my husband. Had more children. And still, Remembrance Day is a sacred day in our home, to discuss the sacrifices that were made, the current war being fought, the parents who have lost children, the children who have lost parents. Three more times I've found myself having the same discussion with a bright eyed three year old, the good guys vs bad guys, right and wrong, and its never gotten any easier. I don't think it should. I think that trying to explain war should always come with difficulty, not with any glib or pat answers. Still, despite my daughter's protest that other families don't, we continue to observe.
I have a promise to keep. And I will never, ever, forget.
Diva turns eleven today. Yay Diva! Happy Birthday!
And she got her first period last night.
*Insert Mommy fainting here.*
Thank heavens she knew from our talks exactly what was going on, so she had that half excited/half embarrassed look to her.
Wolf on the other hand...He about dropped. I mean, worse than me. I just wanted to cry, because having to deal with menstruation at eleven just seems like a rotten thing (its rotten at my age, I wouldn't wish it on an eleven year old, lol!). He on the other hand, turned green at the very idea that his little girl...lol! On the good side, seems to finally *get* why I've been ranting about hormone free meat and milk, whole foods, an acreage, growing and raising everything that goes into our mouths.
He's even going to talk to his buddy about going hunting for the first time. Wolf's anxious to start providing 'clean' meat now and not wait. Venison is about as clean as it gets, and free to boot. If Wolf finally gets around to getting his Metis status, he can hunt year round, not just in season...same with the buddy he'll hunt with.
Oh, any parental "Oh my, she's too young!" momentary freak outs were done away from the kids, and unheard. Just so nobody thinks we flipped in front of Diva 
Ok, technically, this is 101. I actually hit 100 posts. I'm not sure if I should celebrate or be really depressed, since my intention has been to blog weekly...daily, really, but at LEAST weekly. *sigh*
Here's the thing. I debate with myself if I need to create a new blog, and delete this one. I don't want to, but I'm not so sure the Not A Stepford Wife fits me as well as it used to, before I had some personal changes set in this summer...and don't want to disappoint anyone stumbling on by.
At the same time, I'm still so-very-NOT-perfect that it still fits...so I figure I'll keep on bloggin.
Ever start something, find yourself in the midst of it, and realize that somehow the direction has changed? Ya huh. That would be me. I intended for this to be a mostly light hearted Erma Bombeck with an edge sort of blog, and stray into the reality that is my life without the promised laugh track. Ack.
So, bear with me through my growing pains, and we'll get there. Hopefully. And yes, I do so vow that laughs are coming...Oh! The Incredible Eating Machine! Coming up, blog entry 102. Promise!
While the title is appropriate, I now have that David Bowie song in my head. And I've never even liked the song! *sigh*
There have been some changes around the Stepford Home. Literally around the home...or in it.
Wolf *finally* got around to moving some furniture that I've been begging him to do. I now suddenly have THREE bookshelves in my homeschooling/computer area. Not only do I have all my books out on the shelves, but room for more! It makes my book junkie heart race with delight, lol!
Also, much to the delight of the entire family, we ditched the three legged table to the basement and moved the table that had been holding my printer and file boxes into the kitchen. I wish someone could explain to me how it is that once Wolf moved the broken table downstairs, he FIXED the dang thing. Why couldn't he have done that, oh, say THREE MONTHS AGO when the table leg initially fell off? I swear, I just don't understand the man.
He also rearranged the living room. We suddenly feel like we have a larger home to be honest.
Its funny how rearranging furniture can rearrange attitudes. For the first time in I don't know how long, we're all eating at the kitchen table. Like, for every meal. It used to be that we'd eat in front of the tv. *waiting for all the gasping and 'tsk tsk' to die down* Hey, I did say this was the NON Stepford blog, right? Never did I claim perfection in anything.
While the Flylady would die of mortification and shame, I'm finding it much easier to keep the house clean with this new arrangement. Yeah, still one armed, my sink isn't shiny, I don't have shoes on...heck, I haven't even brushed my hair yet this am, but I'm feeling better about the house.
Here's the biggest shock of all: I'm not drinking coffee any more. I know! Me, the person who swore that you'd only get my Timmie's cup away from me by prying it from my cold, dead hands is no longer drinking coffee!
It wasn't intentional. I got hit with some sort of weird illness on Saturday. (It never fails. Ever since I was a kid, I'd get sick before/after/during an anticipated event...Hallowe'en, Christmas, etc. Or one of my brothers would.) I lay shivering under several blankets, looking like death...without a costume or make up. I don't mind looking like death warmed over for Hallowe'en, I usually consider that a triumph of my theatrical makeup skills, but this wasn't intentional, and therefore, completely unappreciated by me.
And its left me unable to stomach coffee. I just can't do it. I've tried, honest! I've finally made the switch to tea, so I could get my caffeine fix. Sorry, but I just cannot stomach Coke or any other caffeinated soft drink in the am. Caffeine must be delivered via a hot beverage.
I don't even own a tea pot, for pity sakes. I'm nervous about anyone from the government reading this, since I'm fairly certain that lack of a teapot is grounds for revoking my Canadian citizenship, declaring me American, and shipping me across the border.
While I love my American friends, I can't live in the States. No Timmies, no Smarties, and I've heard that our Oreos are better for some odd reason.
****PSA ANNOUNCEMENT****
If you boil water, add it to your mug with a tea bag in it, wander away, get distracted by kids and blogging, it WILL turn into a substance suspiciously similar to lye.
Just a friendly heads up.
*******
So, I guess I need to go get a teapot soon, before the government tracks me down. And a proper kettle. I'm using a flipping sauce pan to boil water.
In my new tea drinking defence, I'm drinking Red Rose. None of that decaffeinated-herb-ground-mouse-toe stuff.
I should also mention that I was astounded by how much CRAP we got rid of over the weekend. I'm talking about SIX garbage bags full. And BIG garbage bags. I didn't even know we had that much stuff, let alone crap! Holy decluttering, Batman!
I told my gf K, it feels like we're gearing up for a move. To be honest, that's usually when we declutter and ditch stuff, because both Wolf and I have a bit of a pack rat tendency.
The one thing that does worry me is that he ditched a whole slew of baby gear. Toys, clothes...He isn't completely daft, and did keep the bassinet and swing. I've warned him before that getting rid of baby gear tends to guarantee conception. It happened before. When Tazzie was around eight months old, Wolf got rid of his swing, and a few other things. Boom, I was pregnant with Princess before Tazzie's first birthday.
He's hoping that keeping the bassinet and swing will be enough to ward off the stork. I'm thinking its only bought us time, lol!
So, there's us at the moment. In my next post I promise to tell you about the Incredible Eating Machine.
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