Jsack's Mom's Blog

Welcome to my blog where I share my special needs parenting journey with my heart, truth, and love, one story at a time. ❤️

Irish in my heart

I’m fortunate as I grew up knowing and learning about my Irish heritage. I loved listening to the stories of my ancestors from my Gram and her sisters. Four of my Gram’s siblings came off the boat with their parents, for dreams of a better life. After the devastation of the Great Potato famine of 1845-1849 my Great Great Grandparents and their kin, survived and without them I wouldn’t be here today to tell this story.

Michael and Elizabeth left Scotland at the age of nineteen and traveled by ship to South Hampton, England. At the time, they had three daughters and a son in tow. With competition for jobs, financial security, and food being scarce with the population boom, they made their way to Canada and settled in British Columbia.

My Great Grandparents *image courtesy of my cousin*

My Great Grandfather Michael found work in the mines and was there for twenty-nine years. They hadn’t lived there in the community long when devastation ravaged the town with floods from 1848, to 1947, the mining disaster in May of 1908 that killed one hundred and three miners, and the Great Fire of August. 1 st of 1908 that destroyed the town.

My Great Grandma Elizabeth was pregnant with my Grandma Margaret and due to give birth that hot summer. There were ten lives lost and thousands of homes burnt to the ground. There was a lot of hardship and sadness that my ancestors had to encounter in the new land. I’m happy to report my Gram made it safely into the world as the hospital and the church were the few buildings that were left.

Time passed on with my Gram and her siblings growing up and their parents had added on to their family with four more daughters. More hardship would come to the family as the mine would be closed in order to investigate the fire of 1908. My Great Grandpa Michael had to find work elsewhere. All the daughters worked as well or helped look after the youngest children.

My Great aunts such lovely lasses. *image courtesy of my cousin*

That was the life back then, everyone had a strong work ethic and supported one another. I remember my sweet Gram Margaret telling me stories of her housekeeping days, collecting oranges at the train yard, and working as a caddy at the golf course. The sisters all went on to marry and have families of their own. They still remained close as they raised their children and visited each other when they were Grandparents.

My Gram and 3 of her 5 sisters *image courtesy of my cousin*

A tragic accident in 1917, took the life of the youngest family member Josephine and she died at the age of two, with severe burns to the chest and abdomen. Poor baby girl lighting up the world with her beauty and smile, and for her life to be snuffed out like a candle is so sad. Peter, the only son of nine children returned home from World War 1 and fell ill as well. He succumbed to cerebral meningitis at the age of twenty-six on March. 17th 1922.

He was to sing in the St. Patrick’s day concert that evening for the Knights of Columbus, and he sat up in bed and sang then died. The song that he sang was Danny Boy, a beautiful Irish melody that is dear to my heart to this day.

My Great uncle *image courtesy of my cousin*

After the youngest daughter and only son had passed just 5 years my Great Grandma Elizabeth became ill. My Grandparents were set to get married in the summer month of July and Elizabeth passed 9 days before the wedding. Instead of the church wedding that was planned they quietly got married in the priests rectory of the Holy Family Catholic Church.

My parents got married there as well and my middle sister followed suit and my husband and I proudly married there after. As a devout Irish Catholic family that attended mass every Sunday and invited the priest over for dinner after one of my Great aunts went into the sisterhood. She took the name Sister Michael and lived out her young life devoting herself in service to God.

She passed tragically in a car accident when I was a little girl and my Gram would tell me stories about her love of the family and of the church. There was always tears and hugs given when she spoke of her siblings that had passed on.

My Great aunt Elizabeth and her Father Michael *image courtesy of my cousin*

I celebrate my dearly departed loved ones memories and I carry on the namesake of my Great Grandma, my Great aunt, and my Mom. My Great Grandpa Michael lived on to see his daughters marry and meet his Grandchildren. My Mom had a special relationship with him and would speak of him with joy on her heart. He passed on well into his 80’s to be reunited with his lovely wife and daughters and son.

My Gram and my Mom *image courtesy of my cousin*

My Gram and Mom always said I had the gift of my Great uncle’s vocal talent. To this day when I sing the song of my ancestors homeland Oh Danny Boy I feel uplifted on their angel wings. St. Patrick’s day is celebrated in our family household as much as the joy of birthdays. Wishing you all Irish blessings and may the luck and love of the Irish be with you always. 💚☘️

An adapted version of this story originally appeared on The Wellness Universe titled Irish heritage.

*Special thanks to my cousin Maureen for the use of her family pictures. The late night chats of our family’s story helped me feel closer to my Irish clan.*

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The Tear

What is it about the passage of time? I’ve heard that time heals all wounds, time passes on and time is short. It’s that tear in the fabric of time that intrigues me the most. Where you can be another version of yourself-someone who is stronger and makes better decisions and takes a different path in life.

Like the actress Gweneth Paltrow played in the movie Sliding doors her character was on the subway platform deciding if she should or shouldn’t get on the train. The director portrayed what would happen with her life if she stepped on the subway and who she was and who she interacted with.

It really fascinated me with the twists and turns within the plot of the movie. It showed me that you do have to be careful what you wish for. As I’m watching this the character in my favourite TV show #Thisisus is replaying the memory track of what his life was like before when he was a high school football star and adored by everyone. Kevin had colleges scouting him, a girlfriend who loved him and a close relationship with his family. Then it all came to a crashing end when he was tackled in the big game and suffered a broken leg.

He still had the beautiful girlfriend (who he would later go on to marry and divorce), a strong bond with his fraternal twin sister Kate, an emerging relationship with his adopted brother Randall, and his parents Jack and Rebecca that were there to love and support him to this jagged tear to his football dreams. Yet Kevin can’t see past any of that as he sinks into a depression that goes on to shadow his life in his current phase.

What would’ve his life been like if he avoided that devastating hit that changed his path forever? Would he have gone on to football stardom and become the proud recipient of the Heisman trophy, married the girlfriend and lived happily ever after? Even though he’s a television character Kevin and his life story is enthralling to me that he went onto to what appeared to be a good life making a successful living as an actor while recovering from the death of his Father, the rock in his life.

How would his life be any different if he would’ve just thrown the football, avoided the tackle and never have to lose his Dad at such a young age? It’s the conundrum I’m sure most of us have encountered at some point on our path what if I would’ve taken that subway train, stayed with the ex or gotten that scholarship to college. It’s the tearing of the dream that we have for ourselves that can hurt the most where we feel the regrets of time we’ve lost and where the what if’s eat us up inside.

Is the grass always greener over on the other side of the fence? Not necessarily, should we all just be living the life of our dreams with no regrets or resentments? I’ve always intended to raise my sons to follow their dreams, reach for the stars and be kind and giving human beings. It’s the life that we live that shows us who are true character really is. Excepting the hand we’re dealt and taking the leap of faith and being who we’re really meant to be that matters the most.

I saw myself becoming a famous actress and singer entertaining the world with my talent. Unfortunately I didn’t have the courage to pursue those idealistic dreams and leave my parents and go off to the big city. I didn’t believe in myself as much as I should’ve and that tears at my heart still today. But who am I to say that my dreams shall just wither and die? I can still realize them just in a different way, by performing in theatre and pursuing my passion for storytelling.

It’s the gift of words that sets my heart aflutter now as I’m passing on that love of reading and writing to my sons. It fills my eyes with happy tears as I sit and listen to my youngest champion son reading about Pete the Cat and his buttons as he acts and sings out every page. When I thought his brain might not be able to make sense of the letters with his autism and mental processing speed. Then as my heart swells with pride when my oldest rock star son starts reading me an essay that he’s writing for school and telling me he wants to be a writer like me when he’s older.

I wish for them not to struggle with their identities or what direction they should go career wise like I’ve done. To be able to avoid the “hits” that happen in life the fair weather friends, bullies on the playground, and young love breakups. If I could I’d protect them from it all but then they wouldn’t be truly living and discovering the world for what it is. Their time shouldn’t be spent wondering what if but really experiencing all that life has to offer them from school, friendships, love, and beyond!

It’s in these moments that I know I found the right path and even though my mind can wonder about the what if’s of the world it’s the life that I’m living being the best me I can be that matters. Not the one who made her way to Hollywood to become the actress of her dreams who may have caved in to all the pressure that a lot of celebrities fall under and resorted to drugs and alcohol as a way to cope.

I would rather be my authentic self who loves who I see when I look in the mirror, that prays with my children every evening for a better world for them to grow up in, and loves my husband with everything in me. That’s the bond of family that dreams, pride, fantasies, or ego can never tear away.

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The Haircut

I see the long shaggy hair covering his eyes and he’s bent over trying to put his Batman in his Bat mobile. He’s getting so frustrated because he can’t see what he’s doing and this task is taking too long to figure out. I gently offer to help him and he runs away in anger and slams his door. He’s only four and already acting like a teenager. I pick up his toys, walk to his room and gather him in my arms. 

  
I wrap his blanket around him holding him tight in my Mama bear hug. Deep pressure soothes him and I rock until he stops crying. I brush the hair back from his eyes and I say the dreaded words “oh honey it’s time for a haircut.”

 Soon his body tenses and he’s ready for fight or flight. I rock him and tighten my hold till his fear ridden body is limp in my arms. 
The next day I tell my husband our son needs a haircut. He shakes his head and says “well I don’t want to do it.” Neither of us do it’s a two hour ordeal and the emotions overflow and we’re all stressed. We take turns holding our sweet boy who will turn into a howling banshee any moment. It’s my turn to perform the task of completing a decent haircut. 

I assemble my tools scizzors, buzzer, guards, comb, spray bottle, and a cloth. He will not wear a cape so we strip off his shirt and wrap a towel around him. I place his blanket in a clear plastic bag to protect it but so he’s still able to see it. Next I grab the iPad, thermos of water, and a bag of lollipops. 

I call my husband to help wrangle our son and it’s easier to catch a greased pig at a BBQ! He holds him tightly and I begin wetting down his hair. I’m being very careful to not spray his face at the same time singing his favourite song while his Dad finds him his favourite superheroes on YouTube. I begin to comb his hair and I cautiously snip his bangs. This is not an easy task as I venture close to his eyes. 

I comb his hair out a few more times and move to the sides. I gently approach his ears and I’m holding my breath while I cut around this delicate area. Next I move to the back of his head making sure to work quickly now as he starts to wiggle. I move over to other side and you can hear a pin drop as I cut around the other ear. The hair starts falling and covering his face and blanket in the plastic bag. 

I quickly blow it away and brush off his lap. He starts in with a low growl and I back off completely gently soothing him with my singing.  I carry on only to reach an impasse as he doesn’t want to sit any longer. I bribe him with a lollipop and ask his Daddy to hold him in his blanket bear hug. Instantly he’s soothed and I continue cutting. I’m not a hairstylist I have no professional experience whatsoever. Other than cutting his big brothers hair in the classic “page boy” style.

 I comb out his hair and continue cutting until he gets excited with the video and jerks his head and shoulders around. I narrowly miss stabbing him in the back of the neck! I tag team out with my husband and we trade spots. He plugs in the buzzers and I brush the hair away from our sons face and body. I prepare him for the buzzing sound and hold on to him tight because I know this is going to be a bumpy ride. 

His Dad works quickly and efficiently as I tighten my grip and sing louder overtop of the sound of the buzzers. He’s on my lap wiggling out of my arms and it’s like holding a bag of snakes! We’re almost in tears and we quickly wash his hands and face that are covered in hair. I pick up the hand mirror so he can survey our work and he starts to cry he wants all his hair back. A full sensory meltdown ensues while he can’t process what happened and why I can’t put the hair back. This is the invisible cloak that he wears as he tries to process all eight of his senses. 

I can only imagine what this has felt like for him. As much as we prepare him for haircut time it’s still unbearable. We let him run free and then I change him into his pyjamas while I make him a snack and give him something to drink. He sits at the table singing away between bites and I look at his happy face in awe. Just moments ago I imagined that the clippers felt like hot razors attacking his scalp as his body, brain, and central nervous system were in overload. He finishes up his snack, I wash his hands and face and hug him so tight while telling him how proud I am of him. 

He cuddles up with his Dad and watches a cartoon before storytime. I clean up the mess in the kitchen, sweeping, making lunches, and pour myself a stiff drink. I go downstairs and sit and sip while glancing up at my son and his Dad nestled together in the recliner. My husband says “thank you for being a brave boy for Mommy and Daddy.” 
His eyes well up with tears and he holds his Daddy’s face in his little hands and says “you hurt me Daddy.” I watch my husband’s face crumple and we look at each other and silently agree that this will be the last haircut he ever gets at home. This is our life with Sensory Processing Disorder. 

Welcome to the Sensory Blog Hop — a monthly gathering of posts from sensory bloggers hosted by The Sensory Spectrum and The Jenny Evolution. Click on the links below to read stories from other bloggers about what it’s like to have Sensory Processing Disorder and to raise a sensory kiddo!

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Monday Musing-Riding the grief wave

I look at my reflection in the mirror and I’m a mixed tumble of messy emotions.  I don’t feel sad or cry everyday and there’s bursts of enthusiasm for life and all the wonderful things that make me happy. My family, friends, reading, writing, and creating something from nothing. Whether that’s in my kitchen or my craft room making something fills my happy bucket. 

Last year I suffered the loss of three special people in my life and just when I feel I’m dealing with my grief someone else dies! What do you do when you’re grieving during the month of love? Sometimes I can feel these emotions ebbing and flowing like the tides towards my heart. I can catch it in time or let it wash over me and fill me with overwhelming love or sadness. 

Sometimes it’s a mixture of both as this month has been difficult for me since the death of my parents. Seven years ago for my dearest Dad and five for my beloved Mama I had to say goodbye. Their leaving has left a huge hole in my heart in the shape of their love. I’ve done my best to live around that hole and create a new “normal.” Sometimes I succeed and then the grief wave threatens to pull me under again. Under the water where I’m drowning in emotion and struggling to breathe with the weight of my tears. 

I’ve been in counselling a lot of my life. I started when I was twelve in family therapy then continued on into adulthood. I still see someone when the urge arises and he thinks I need to deal with my grief instead of just trying to survive it. In the last ten years of my marriage my husband and I collectively had to say goodbye to ten loved ones. In the seven years since my Dad, step sisters, and my Mom’s deaths I’ve been in grief recovery in some form of another. Whether it was journaling, actively seeing a therapist, or in a support group. 

I’ve learned a lot about myself and I even wrote up a timeline of my happy and sad times in my life to track my triggers. The happiness is about feeling loved and discovering something new. The sadness always centres around a death in my life since I was three years old. I was born to older parents so I was around older people in my family tree. To me this was my life not anything unusual until I went to school and my friends parents were the same age as my older siblings! That was a shock as I never thought about all these special people leaving me. 

Some may say that dealing with death so young prepared me for the path I need to take to resilience. I have questioned my own mortality, mourned for a a young life snuffed out by tragic circumstances, and have wrote out my living will to prepare my family. I’ve learned a lot during this time of self reflection and pain yet still feel like there’s more to discover. As I carve out a new “normal” and live around this void in my heart. I keep taking it one step, one breath, one journey at a time. With all that I have lost I’ve gained more love, perspective and appreciation; for all the people who have touched my life on this earthly and heavenly plane and for that I’m grateful. 

It’s time for #MondayMusings and it’s being co-hosted by Everyday Gyaan and The Philosopher’s Stone
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Write a post sharing your thoughts with us – happy, sad, philosophical, ‘silly’ even. Make it as personal as possible.

Use the hashtag #MondayMusings.

Add your link to the linky which you will find on Everyday Gyaan and on the post of a co-host.

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Childhood revisited 

I look up at the tree to see how far I have to climb till I can’t see the ground or feel the emotions I want to get away from. Why a tree you may ask well it could be anything as long as I could be up high. I climbed trees, fence posts, and the  horse stock corral in our backyard. 

When I was inside I would climb on top of my Mom’s black upright piano. I’d sit up there to eat my lunch and watch my favourite tv show Sesame Street. I wanted to live there and go on a picnic with Big Bird and Snufflelufugus. I found Ernie to loud and Bert to anxious, Oscar was too grouchy and the Count slept most of the time. Cookie Monster and Grover were my best friends we could sit around eating cookies all day and sing songs about it. 

I had this stuffed animal of Grover he was blue, soft, and fuzzy. He had long arms and legs I would wrap around my neck and waist and he would go everywhere with me. I adored that pal of mine and everyone would see us together and smile. I wasn’t allowed to take him to school though because my Mom said there was only one Grover and everyone would want one. 

I don’t remember if he was a birthday gift or for Christmas all I remember was he appeared in my life one day and made it all the better. I could talk to Grover about anything fights I had with my siblings, mud pie recipes, and how I could see things that other people couldn’t see. He never judged me and always kept my secrets just like my dog Bo. He was a special dog a gift from my Dad when I was brought home from the hospital. 

He became another member of our family even after my parents separated Bo came to live with us. We lived a simple life in the village with our Mom and my sister. He would walk us to and from school everyday. I would race home with my backpack hanging off my shoulder with the weight of my library books. I would run in the house kiss my Mom, tell her quickly about my day, grab my snack and Grover and disappear into the woods behind our house. 

I would find my special place and sit down and read to my friends. I loved to use different characters voices and inflection in my tone to make the story exciting. This was the way my Mom taught me the magic of story telling and it helped my comprehension and confidence. It helped me escape into a world of adventure in my books when the world was too loud, bright, and confusing. I loved sailing the seven seas with Sinbad, sitting down for tea with Charles Dickens in a Tale of Two Cities and living in the beautiful fantasy world of a Midnight Summer’s Dream from Shakespeare. 

My childhood was a happy place when I was able to climb trees, drink tea with my Mom and her friends, and use my imagination. I would dream about living on Sesame Street reading to everyone on the block and visiting Bob and Maria at Mr.Hooper’s store. There’s still times when I like to take a detour from my stress and go back to my childhood where life was simpler, carefree, and fun. 

🎶 Can you tell me how to get 

How to get to Sesame Street? 🎶

This has been my take on the Daily Prompt Childhood Revisited. 

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My little box of memories

I like to think I’m a juxtaposition of a person I can be soft and gentle with my words and actions, and tough and hard when I feel I’m wronged. I was raised to be strong, speak my mind, and stand up for myself. My parents recognized a tenacious spirit in me when I was very young. I have been a right fighter most of my life. Now I ask myself do I want to be right, or do I want to be happy? 

As a child I could stay awake for hours on end while my poor Mom was sleep deprived and living on pots of cast iron tea to function. This is when four tea bags are added to a tea pot and left to steep all day. My Dad worked long hours as a logger and he would be up getting ready for his work day at midnight. I would still be wide awake partying in my crib. 

He would come into my room and tell me it was time to go to sleep and I would wail even louder. As I got older his attempts to put me to bed became more futile as I had language and comprehension. I would say “Daddy you just go away and mind your own business!”He would walk out shaking his head and say “that bloody kid is lucky she’s cute!”

These are the memories I store in my memory box in my mind. My parents died awhile ago and pictures I have in my memory bank are all I have left. I rely on my older siblings recounts of my childhood and a box of slides to preserve these precious moments in time. I remember when I was young how much I loved to set up the projector to have a slide show as all the happy times came to life on the white sheet pinned to the wall of the living room. The pictures would paint a lively account of the trips we took, birthday parties, baseball games, weddings, and church events. 

Now I store my memories in a special box that keep on my beside table. Inside are pictures of my loved ones,their funeral Mass cards, poems, prayers, and trinkets that they gave me. I have the first story that I ever wrote with my Mom and the first song I wrote for her. I have my Dad’s pins from Lion’s club that he was proud to be a member of for over 30 years. I have a pair of earrings and necklace set from my Gram and Grandpa that they gave me for my graduation, and a old travel sewing kit of my Grandpa’s from the war.

 Each time someone I love passes on I add to this little box. It helps me perserve the love I have for them and keep them alive in my heart. I take them out from time to time when I’m feeling low and in need of a lift from angel wings. I hold them, absorbing the love, energy, and every precious memory I have of my time with them. I feel comforted through my tears as they overcome me with emotion flooding my thoughts, feelings, and actions. 

This little box is my gift I give to myself to pick me up when I stumble and forget how to fly. 
This is a special keepsake that I can pass down to my children when it’s my time to have the special things I’ve given them to place in that box. I’ve written them letters of how I became their Mom and the joy that they have given me with that privilege. As for now I open that box and lovingly hold those memories close to my heart so I will never forget the people who made me who I am today with their presence in my life. I thank them for the gift of their love, light, and guidance. 
  

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To my love on his birthday 

Today is a special day it’s my husband’s birthday! I know this day is very special to me, because he was born to become my love, and my life. I’ve known my husband for a long time, as he went to school with my sister. I’ve wrote about our love story here, but today I write about why I love him so much. 

You can really discover a lot about a person when you’ve known them for thirty years. Yes that’s 3-0, three decades of crushing on him and his smile that still makes the butterflies float in my tummy. My belly that housed our precious son’s and my body that nourished them through nearly 10 years of marriage. This love of mine has never wavered, for as long as I’ve known him I wanted to be his one and only. 

 

 Now he slumbers peacefully as I’m too excited to sleep and need to write this. I adore him so much, when others saw a little punk kid trying to look grown up; he saw the real me batting my blue eyes. I only told my Mom and Gram of my crush on him. I wouldn’t even tell my sister for fear I might get teased. If you have an older sibling you know what I’m writing about. 
My Mom and Gram would never tell my secret and I never would tell my love either. Well, until many years ago when after a few drinks shared I couldn’t contain my enthusiasm for the truth! I was only 12 when we met that fateful and happy day at a hockey game. He was 17 playing hockey and ready to graduate. I didn’t care though I saw him and he captured my interest and my heart. 

It didn’t matter what our age difference was I believed if it was meant to be it would. He moved away right after graduation but I kept tabs on him through mutual friends. Then I found out he moved away to another province and I moved there as well before graduation. I tried to find him but alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Then I moved back to my hometown to cure myself from my homesickness and graduate with my friends. 

I found out through my cousin that my love had moved back too! I kept a low profile as I was preparing for exams. I still had an interest in seeing him after all those years. I had done some growing up of my own and I wasn’t that kid sister anymore. Then as fate would have it he literally walked back into my life. It was at a friend’s birthday party and I was bouncing and battening  and making sure my friend’s apartment wasn’t getting trashed. Then I see him and all my care taking and “Mother henning behaviour flew out the window! My heart was captured once again and this time I wasn’t letting this prize winning catch go. We stayed up the rest of the night talking, laughing, and yes even sobering up. 

He had to go to work the next day and I had to clean up after the party. We parted ways but we’re content on seeing each other again. Back to school and reality, and phone numbers exchanged and no phone calls were made. Well I did some serious thinking and praying and a week later I called him. I was excited and nervous so I made the date to meet some friends at the theatre. 

That date was a lifetime ago and I still remember it like it was yesterday. What I wore, the smell of his cologne, and the movie we watched. My mind and my heart will never forget that first tender, soft, kiss that left me with all the romantic stereotypes. Weak in the knees, butterflies, and breathless and wanting more! That’s what happens when two energies collide, pure pulsating magic. 

  
It wasn’t always easy as there were naysayers on both sides of the coin that said we would never last. And here we are outlasting a lot of those marriages that came to be before ours. I still remember the best compliment we ever received was from my husband’s aunt. 

“I would never know you were together for a long time. It’s like you both just met and have fallen in love and it’s a privilege to witness that.”

I will never forget that compliment nor the 200 people who came out to celebrate on our wedding day. To my husband, my heart, twin soul, and lover for life. Happy birthday and  thank you for blessing mine and our sweet son’s life with your love. You are loved, respected, and appreciated and are our gift to have everyday. ❤️ 

  


 

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Writer’s Quotes Wednesday

  

This has been my submission to Silver Threading for Writer’s Quotes Wednesdays. Today I thought about hope for the future, power beyond the pain, and the courage to change my thought patterns. Please read all the talent who link up and be inspired. ❤️

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Anonymous 

There are times I put my ball cap on big sunglasses tuck my hands in my hoodie kangaroo pocket and hide out. Sometimes I do this at home or when I go out so I can remain anonymous. I might even look creepy in my incognito splendour, but I feel safe. I like to people watch there I said it, and this is a way I can do it casually. I learn so much about watching people. There’s an art form to it, a nuance that I appreciate. I don’t stare I just watch how people use their body language, talk in public, how they get absorbed in their “face in their phone world.” 

I have always enjoyed this past time and until now I’ve remained anonymous about it. People inspire me I can think up things to write just from seeing people interacting with each other. Sometimes I take notes while I’m sipping my Starbucks, and word prompts or blog ideas pop into my head. I used to go to parks while I was pregnant with my first and watch parents in action. I watched how they held their babies, what kind of strollers they used, how they cooed and kissed their precious bundles of joy. I enjoyed seeing them in those sweet, candid moments in love with their little family’s. 

I was so eager to learn and take mental notes about what kind of Mom I would be. Little did I know that the biological need kicks in whether you birthed your baby or were blessed with someone’s else’s. I just knew what my son needed whether he was comfortable in a football hold, or too hot from skin to skin and he would push his arms up and away from my chest. I would watch him for hours too just before I fell asleep while he was dreaming away in baby land. 

I could watch his body movements, the way his long eyelashes made his tender baby face look so beautiful. The roundness of his chubby cheeks, and the sweet way he pursed his lips like he was about to kiss me. I couldn’t get enough of baby watching when I had my babies. And I made friends with other Mom’s and I watched and admired their babies as well. My second baby loved to wiggle even when he was sleeping. He was in constant motion right before he’d drift off to sleep. His rosy cherub like cheeks looked like two little apples I could nibble on. His lips were always in a full pout, and his soft blonde hair I would stroke and admire his peacefulness. He was so angelic and since he wasn’t much of a steady sleeper I appreciated these moments even more. 

Watching my children while they slept made me appreciate their beauty, calmness, and the tender years that they were at. And how fast they were progressing as they grew from babies, to toddlers, to preschoolers, and off to Kindergarten and leaving my nest. As they’ve grown this made me want to study them as they play. As if I could capture this time of their lives and bottle it for safe keeping for my memory bank. The voices my youngest likes to use with his superhero characters makes me giggle. And the songs and dances my oldest uses to entertain himself and other amazes me with his talent. I also watch them watching me as I’m reading, cooking, or working out, asking me a hundred questions about what I’m doing, and when will I be done. 

As much as I enjoy people watching I’ve given birth to a couple of investigative people reporters. My son’s will give me updates on our neighbours comings and goings. As well as what his dog is up too, sleeping, eating, or sniffing as he sees my youngest staring at him through a crack in the fence. I have to remind my kids it’s not nice to stare at people in public. A passing glance is long enough and adding a smile if someone looks your way can make yours and their day. I’ve received compliments from other people watchers about my son’s. Which always makes me puff up my chest as a Mommy peacock strutting my parenting stuff. 

I’ve been told by little Grandma’s in the grocery store how polite and cute my kids are. How they must keep me giggling with their antics. I’ve nodded, agreed, and have added “yes laughing and a little hair pulling as well.” I used to feel so anxious if someone was watching me with my babies. Almost like they were trying to see where I was doing something wrong, or I would be judged for not doing something right. Igniting  the whole Mom wars debate that I wanted to avoid like the plague. 

It spoke a lot more to my insecurities then what people thought of me. Usually they just wanted me to hurry up in a line up when deciding what meal to order. They weren’t judging me they just were in a hurry with life. And there I was with my baby smiling away at them from my stroller. I got over that after my children started getting older. Now my oldest is quite a handsome boy with brilliant blue eyes, and an easy smile on his lips. 

He captures attention wherever he goes as he’s kind, polite, and always engages someone in conversation. My youngest he’s equally handsome and adorable, but where his brother is my quiet child he is my loud, wild, child. He is a boy very comfortable in his skin. He has no qualms of telling you his name, how old he is, and inviting  you back to our house for a play date. With him everything is an adventure, something fun and exciting waiting to be discovered by him. I love how he tackles life whether it’s scary or challenging  he wants to take a bite out of that experience. 

There are those days I want to be anonymous when he raises hell with being uncomfortable or panicked about something in his environment. This is something he has no control over with his neurological disorder. If sets him off sensory wise then we have some drama to contend with. Those are the times I want to crawl underneath the table and hide under my hat and dark sunglasses. But I don’t, I’ve taught my kids to never shy away from life. I just do my best to handle the situation and regulate my son as quickly as possible. Then we can leave as quietly as we came in or I can be the people watcher, and say “take a picture to remember us by.” Which actually happened in a McDonald’s as there were a few judgey Mcjuderson’s in attendance. Oh to be anonymous, incognito, say what you say, dream what you dream, feel what you feel without a care in the world, and be free. Now if you will excuse me it’s time for my weekly people watching session at Starbuck’s. 😉

This has been my Sunday confession with the loveable More Than Cheese and Beer. Head on over and check out her anonymous Sunday confessions. And all the lovely ladies who linked up today. Thank you,  smooches. 😘

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One Liner Wednesday 

It was a day of a thousand questions from my four year old. We were FaceTiming with his Dad from work and our son was leaning in and  crushing my chest. So I moved him as I was becoming a uniboob and it was painful. Anyways I adjusted myself, and then cuddled my son in close only to hear him reply “Mom stop, you’re crushing my boob!” My husband was laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe! Out of the mouth of babes. 😉
This has been my submission to One Liner Wednesday’s with Linda G. Hill please check out the hilarity and inspiration in her link up. Thank you. ❤️

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