Posts Tagged ‘experiences’

Today I left the house at a different time and went to a different place.

I sat in a different chair and talked to different people.

I drank a different cup of tea and used a different pen and learned different things.

I heard about different perspectives and different ways to do things.

I had a different lunch and managed to think some different thoughts.

I even almost started to see myself a little bit differently.


Today I spent a day outside of my comfort zone. Tomorrow I will be back to doing the same as has always been done but I hope I manage to carry a little bit of different with me.

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My masterpiece.

My masterpiece.

I painted this last night.

Me.  Someone who has never painted a picture in her whole life.  I painted that.  And I wouldn’t even be ashamed to put it up on my wall!

It was date night.  My birthday is coming up next week so Hubby and I took advantage of the fact that my parents are in town and could babysit and we headed out for a night on the town.  I knew we were going for dinner but I was in the dark on the second “surprise” part of the evening.

And what a surprise it was.  He warned me that it was something different, something we hadn’t done before, and he was certainly right about that.

We ended up at a Painting Lounge.  It’s a place where you go and paint a picture while sipping on a latte or lemonade, letting your creative juices flow.  They have all of the easels, brushes, paints, sponges and any other tools you could possibly need and you just go ahead and paint away.

I have to admit that the first moment after I had tied on my apron and sat down on my stool and I was just perched there, staring at the blank canvas, I was pretty much terrified.

Where do I start?

What should I do?

What if it doesn’t work out?

And then the answers came to me.

Start anywhere.

Do anything.

So what.

And then it was that easy, I just started.  I picked some colours, grabbed a brush, channelled my inner Bob Ross and off I went.  You’ll notice I stuck to a shape close to my heart – I mean I just can’t go wrong with polka dots – and from there it just came together.

I’m not saying I’m going to quit my job and try to make a living at it; I’m not even saying it’s something I’ll try again tomorrow, but it was a unique creative experience for me.  When I think about creating I think about writing and this was totally different.  When I write, my mind is full, the thoughts coming so quickly I can hardly keep up.  But last night, sitting there with the brush in my hand, my mind emptied.  For almost two hours I thought about nothing except which colour to do and where to put the next dot.  It was that simple, and it was exactly the break I needed.

And when I was done and I sat back to look at the finished product, the canvas wasn’t blank anymore and you know what, it wasn’t bad.  My fears were unfounded.  I tried something new and it was great.

I started with a blank canvas and ended up finding answers to a whole bunch of questions I’ve been asking myself for months.

Start anywhere.  Do anything.  So what if it doesn’t work out.

You may just end up with something pretty great.

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In the midst of the day-to-day, the errands, the lists, the form and function of everyday life, sometimes the feeling of being a mother gets lost.

I feel like a caretaker, a cook, a maid, a teacher, a warden, but often the feelings that I always assumed would be part and parcel of being a mother are missing.

I originally thought that everyday would have a moment in which I would swell up with love, pride, disbelief that these amazing creatures had come from me.

Eight and a half years of motherhood have made me realize that reality is somewhat different than the fantasy.

I have now settled into the rhythm of it, the regularity of it, not taking it for granted exactly; more like accepting it for what it is. Acceptance to the point that now when a “motherhood” moment does strike, it’s with such force and emotion that I am almost left winded by the power of it.

They come unpredictably. I can never really see one coming until it is already on top of me, like a wave pulling me under.

Sitting in a tiny, child-size chair participating in my first parent-teacher conference not as the child being discussed, but the adult who is expected to participate in the discussion.

Watching the look on my daughter’s face the first time she saw the Nutcracker ballet. Looking the other way and seeing my mother’s face as she watched her own daughter, now grown, and her granddaughter.

Yesterday, another one hit as I sat in a freezing cold arena, my hands laced around a cup of steaming, hot tea, watching my son play hockey for the first time.

He must have fallen down 50 times, some on his back, some on his stomach, some that looked like they would hurt, even with all of the equipment he was wearing. And each and every time he popped right back up and kept going, trying as hard as he could to keep up with the big kids.

He was doing it all on his own, it had nothing to do with me, and yet, on some level, it did.

Each time around the ice he would look up to find me in the stands and I would wave. I could barely see his face through the wire cage he wore but I could still make out his smile, ear to ear, with his mouth guard dangling from one lip.

The tears welled up in my eyes and the emotion squeezed my heart like a vice. I didn’t even care if anyone saw the tears. I didn’t even bother to wipe them away.

Because I know now that these moments don’t come very often and they last but a few seconds and then they are gone.

But there, in that rink, in that moment, I felt like a mother.

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