Moving out of your comfort zone.

After years of being the exception I thought I knew how to survive in the dark dangerous zone of unfamiliarity.  I was part of the brave new world where women were equal to men. I had obtained an honours mathematics and computer science degree from the prestigious University of Waterloo.  I had obtained a master's degree in engineering and was pursuing a doctorate degree in the same subject area.

The first inkling of a flaw in my internal logic with respect to gender came while I was pregnant for the second time (I miscarried my first).  I vividly remember being in the women's bathroom of my engineering graduate school department and looking myself in the mirror and saying to myself:  "Wow, being a woman sucks."

The precipitous 'event' which was less an event but more of an all encompassing new way of life for me at that time was being nauseous 24/7. It was horrible. Horrible enough to wish I wasn't a woman. It seemed grossly unfair to me that biology had dictated not only labour (of which I was mortally afraid and as it turned out, with good reason) but also this feeling of wanting to throw up, constantly.  Morning sickness became a cruel euphemism ridiculing my constant state of gagging. I wonder if Princess Kate had this same realization.

Upon reflection I see that this nausea was perhaps a biological reminder that by becoming a parent, you move so far out of your comfort zone that a warm up sure doesn't hurt. Science doesn't seem to support this idea but how could it?  How could this idea even be tested?

Yet, if you ask any parent if they believe having children moved them out of their comfort zone I believe you would get 100% concurrence on this sentiment as well as an addendum:  "Most rewarding thing I've ever done."

So, forgetting the science, ask yourself what is making you uncomfortable, right now?  Could it be something that if you persevere it will end up rewarding you?

I'm grappling with these questions even as I type these words.  Some of the reading I've been doing about the art and practice of writing suggests that if you are painfully extracting words from deep within, you have found your voice. I am all too familiar with this notion yet constantly reject practicing (i.e. like maintaining this blog). 

Well, that was awkward. Not.

"We had lunch at Timmies."

I looked down to the voice that was directed, quite obviously, but not rudely, towards me.

In the hilarity and confusion of the preceding moments I hadn't realized that this little person had managed to weasle his way closer to me.

On the other side of me Daughter was holding a green tinged wrap.  The kind they call a spinach wrap. The kind that people actually believe counts as a serving of vegetables.

We were at an event that had tables of food and Daughter was wolfing down a very late breakfast/lunch since she had chosen to not eat before we left the house at noon. She had remarked that she was starving and I had also said that it was no wonder since she had chosen to skip breakfast.

I had just made a comment to her and the group around her that I wanted a picture of her with the green tinged wrap with another stringy bit of green limp lettuce flopping out of it.  And I had said that I wanted the wrap hanging out of her nose.  I felt that the effect would be marvelous when contrasted with her crisp black graduation gown and hard covered cap with the orange tassle dangling from the left side.

This comment had all of us laughing at the image of her with the green  wrap dangling out of her nose as the perfect accouterment to the dangling orangle tassle  - aided greatly by Daughter acting out the motion of placing said wrap close to her nose. And then this little person's voice piped up directly below me in order to to tell me, not the group, where he had had lunch.

I guess it was a big deal for him. Coming down to the big city to see his half sister graduate. The half sister that he worshipped and had since birth (the feeling being mutual).  He got to take the afternoon off of school and go to lunch alone with his own mom and their shared dad since his other full blooded sister couldn't come due to a conflicting track and field competition.  And the three of them had went to Timmie's for lunch.  The whole day had likely taken on a magical quality for him and perhaps, as at another graduation ceremony over four years prior, this young child had felt the need to share something with me, the other mother. The one that wasn't his mother. The one that mothers his idolized sister.

The difference between this graduation for Daughter and the last is that the ensuing four years has brought a maturity to me that cannot be erased. Four years ago, at Daughter's grade eight graduation, I had a friend accompany me. I could not face it alone. By it I mean the reality of the anger and rage that XHusband projects onto me.  The rage that he shared with Daughter via nastily barbed words about my failings as a mother - both in his home with his 'new' family and at family gatherings with his extended family. So at that graduation, when the same little voice approached me, I was moved to engage with Daughter's half brother by asking him some questions and conversing directly with him. An olive branch, as it were.

But this time, when the little voice offered up it's morsel all I could think was "I am not your mother little boy. I am so grateful that my child was not raised in a house of hatred.  I am sorry that your parents have not allowed you and your half sister, my daughter, to have a joint relationship with me and that they have portrayed me to be something evil. Because I see that you, little boy, recognize me for what I am: The mother of someone you love dearly and because of your love for her you want to reach out to me because you know that you and I share this worship factor. We both worship Daughter and for that I am delighted.  But I am not your mother and I have nothing to give you right now."

Of course, I didn't say any of this.  I merely looked into the innocent eyes and said "That's nice" and continued to focus my attention on the object of my worship.  Daughter was looking resplendent and glorious in her gown and cap and gobbling down a green tinged wrap while sharing an awkward moment with her two estranged parents, step mom and half brother.  These moments have come few and far between in her life. Her continuing giggles attested to the inherent discomfort of the situation and she was relieved when her father mumbled something about getting on the road to return home.  Their backs were swallowed up by bodies in the hectic gymnasium as they found their way back to their mini van and their small city life in Kitchener.

One of the best parts of worshipping Daughter is getting to be a voyeur on her social life and I spent the next half hour soaking up the shrieks and shrills of her gang reuniting.  Daughter's high school graduation made me feel more like a grown up than I ever have.  And I mean that in a very positive way.

There are no rats in this race. None.

This missive serves as a formal thank-you note to the parenting warriors I know.  And no, you do not need to be a parent in order to be named a parenting warrior.

All of us wear, as a public front, the results of our parenting.  So if I directed you here I was informed by you and your actions as to my own parenting choices. I likely talked about you with Daughter in the form of "There is this really cool person I met from a food thing/school thing/random thing (including the internet)...this is their story or why they are cool". And some of you I know more intimately than that but I might not have directly named you in my story telling.

The internet allows me to mask identities with Daughter if I have intimate knowledge of something and I was to pass along a great story but not reveal true identity.  More often than not I have chosen to share stories of action rather than stories of identity so I guess that means I've fully rejected most notions of idolatry .Which also happens to make me a really great atheist, eh?

There are tumultuous times as parents. Birth. Toddler. Preschool/early school. Grade 6 (for estrogen heavy children especially). And then, finally, the holy grail of parenting: Teenagehood. A last childhood stage that hopefully finales with a goal towards further education (formal or otherwise) and intelligent voting (I'm not joking).

Daughter moved away to university yesterday. She and I both entered a whole new world. One where my role as a parent will have shifted away from one thing to another.  And, according the to the God (Dr.) Seuss :  Ah, yes of course. Thing 2 would like to clarify that just because he wears the number 2 does not imply in any way that he's inferior to Thing 1. 

And like everything else in this world, when life is tumultuous one tends to turn to others in order to support and inform. And sometimes literally carry you (extra long hat tip here to The Parents, luckily both still alive and healthyish).

So whether or not you knew it, if I've directed you here then you were part of my own personal strongly social media infused Information and Support Team: Parenting Branch. (Brief Aside to an interesting fact. I first went online in 1993 seeking out parenting support after a devastating miscarriage. This makes me an original netizen).

You were the people on whose backs I often trod. And most of you know I'm kind of addicted to learning so many of you were just plain teachers. But the best kind of plain teacher is the one that you actually learn from. So thank-you for teaching me even if you had no idea I used you for my parenting role model (especially if you are not a parent lol).

Parenting was the biggest challenge I ever took on and I had heaps and heaps of learning to do on the subject since I was not part of any large familial structure as a first generation Canadian. An extremely grateful Canadian, now.

Some of you I do not or can not name because our interactions were so brief I failed to obtain a name.  And some of you I do not name because you do not getz the social media internetz thang (remember, I am 45, GenX - we GASP wrote snail mail in our youth and many of us still do...not me though lol).  But I might actually snail mail a few of those sorts of characters.  And, of course in the age of social media, some of you I name, but do not know face to face since we have never actually met.  And sadly, there is one dear friend who I especially wish to thank but she recently passed on. She was, ultimately, a fatal victim to her own childhood demons.

Memory, being what it is, will forget some. And memory, being what it is, will enlarge some.

Be that as it were, I now attempt to name you here via various sorts of social media avenues including good 'old fashioned' email. Because, you see, in the land of social media I can now name my not-necessarily-blood-related-clan. And not only name you but sometimes to also publicly thank-you, without a face-to-face ceremony. And ceremonies traditionally employ food and it just so happens that I've broken bread with most of you. And much of it good healthy AND tasty food at that :)

I am transitioning to stage II parenting now. And I certainly feel a ceremony should occur. So this is mine.

My transitioning parent ceremony will occur over the course of the entire month of September and I will attempt to blog here regularly about my reflections on parenting as I drive across Canada from Vancouver to St. John's along the Trans-Canada Highway.  I'm also hoping to get a few cross Canada harvest food related stories up on my newish food themed blog (but not recipes: they are here).

Namaste and again, thank-you.  Go forth and multiply the intelligent and humane sorts of folks that we are capable of creating.  Be a seed, as it were.  Plant yourself, flower and prosper.

Food Warrior Mother

I live in what's called an inner suburb of the city of Toronto.  What does this mean in practical terms?  Well, I have a 7 minute walk to the subway line or a 1 minute walk to a bus stop that will take you directly into the subway station with a very short ride.  Ergo I have easy and affordable access to all that a world class city like Toronto has to offer.

My daughter has 4 more days of high school classes.  This morning I reflected upon her years of education in the big city and my choice 13 years ago to move here and raise her in the most populous city in Canada.  A place in Canada that bears the brunt of criticism by the rest of Canada.  I myself was raised in a Toronto suburb and lived in Kitchener-Waterloo for over a decade and still can't understand why people hate '416' so much.  I love all parts of Canada and have visited nearly all of our all major cities and find the criticism well, rather childish really.

As a breeder I am thankful that 13 years ago my 32 year old self had the foresight/good fortune to recognize the advantages of moving to the city for my daughter's public school education.  As a breeder who did this on my own I am especially thankful.  Unlike the children of many of my suburban and rural parenting peers, once my daughter was old enough, she started walking to elementary school.  She was in grade 4 and started crossing a moderately busy arterial street without me and there is no crosswalk or lights (gasp!).  In grade 7 she went to an inner city alternative public school for middle school and took the subway everyday for this - she was 11 the fall she started doing this on her own (horror!).  Thus, starting in grade 7 I no longer had to transport or 'taxi' her to activities.  I have had years of being free of this duty.  I merely dole out money for TTC tickets and await texts of details of her social life and departure/arrival times and I don't even have to be home to receive these.  And I don't know how I'd even start to estimate the hours saved of me sitting behind the wheel of a car on the busy streets of the suburbs surrounding Toronto or the long drives from rural homes to lessons/friends/shopping.  I dated a suburban guy and recall many hours driving with him and his children and little else from the time we spent at his suburban home.  I don't recall any activity that didn't involve at least a 15 minute drive to get to out there.

Another significant advantage to raising her in Toronto has been the access to a large assortment of fantastic public schools including specialty schools for the arts and technical skills. Two personal favourite's are Bendale Business and Technical Institute's Horicultural Program in Scarborough and The culinary program headed by Chef Keith at Thistletown Collegiate Institute in Rexdale.  My own daughter went to three stellar public schools in this city:  West Prep, Horizon Alternative and Harbord Collegiate Institute.

I could go on and on but this is quickly becoming a melancholic soliloquy from a soon-to-be-empty-nester. I will sign off with two pics I took yesterday while on an urban farm tour.  There are many reasons to love the city of Toronto.  Urban parenting and the thriving urban agriculture scene in Toronto are at the top of my list today.  These two streams of thought are more connected than you might think.  A core philosphy in my parenting has been the choices of food I've fed my child with.  Fresh local food has been a central component of our  little family's diet and allowing other families affordable access to this is a passion for this particular Food Warrior Mother.

Artichokes growing on the rooftop of AccessPoint on the Danforth - a ladybug is the red spot.

A Newfoundland flag caught my eye across from one of the H.O.P.E. Community Gardens in Parkdale.