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Thanks Cheryl for the comments on the last post. It's nice to know there's someone reading :)
It got me thinking a bit more about clothing and immigration, etc. Adapting to a new culture while still being proud of your 'old' one and trying to incorporate the two. The 'holiday' season is a great example of this. The incredible hoopla about not being able to say "Merry Christmas" or have Christmas trees up in public buildings. I don't believe in Christ, but I still say "Merry Christmas". However, I know that in reality, especially in larger urban centers, many of the people you run into also do not believe in Christ but still have strong---very strong---religious views. Just different. Even years ago, if you knew (or guessed that) someone was Jewish, for example, you just knew not to say "Merry Christmas". You might not say "Happy Hanukkah" but you wouldn't be inconsiderate and force your seasonal greeting on someone you knew wouldn't appreciate the sentiment. So, I sort of see the point of not saying "Merry Christmas" to everyone you come across. Even the white chick hairdresser (is--not an 'obvious' non-Christian minority) might be pagan, or Jehovah, etc. LOL. It's a consideration that's pretty easy to adapt to. Now, being that I don't believe in Christ, perhaps it's easier for me to think this way. We DO celebrate "Christmas" and I wish there was another term for it (this was a big debate on a parenting group I'm in). Happy Santa Day? Keep the religious salutations to the religious buildings and settings they belong in.

Further along this line is the idea of cultural dress versus religious dress. I imagine it can be fairly easy to give up cultural dress (a kilt; Bermuda shorts; cowboy hat) when you come to a new country, particularly if there's a different climate. However, for some cultures, religion IS their culture. While the wearing of the bourqa might be a cultural imposition on women, it is rooted in a deep religious faith. And then, on the flip side, we never ask an Arab man how he feels to be 'forced' to wear the traditional, culturally based robes and headgear. It's just what you wear as a man in an Arab country. But should it still be worn here in Canada? Well, as soon as a nor'easter whips up under those robes, I'll bet someone discovers the joys of pants, LOL.

What about turbans? Are they religious or cultural? Most religions have 'rules' regarding keeping the head covered, but each faith interprets it differently. And each culture tends to have it's own religion. Remember the big hoopla about police officers insisting they should be able to wear turbans instead of the police caps? Police caps, in a way, are a cultural uniform; should religion trump culture and professional uniformity? And then there was the fascinating case last year about the motorcycle rider who insisted he could not wear a helmet because he must wear his turban. My solution--let him wear the turban, but have him sign a waiver--attached to the digital documentation of his health card--that says he will be responsible for the financial cost incurred if injured due to not wearing a helmet.

On further thought, I think a waiver like that should be enforced for everyone. Let's also add seat belts to the list. If you are injured in an accident due to not wearing a seat belt, you should be financially responsible. If you're still alive. What else can we add? There's the debate about if alcoholics who need a liver should be ahead of 'innocent' victims on the transplant list...

Okay, getting really off the immigrant theme here. LOL. But this is my blog, and it's fun to have a place where I can 'rule' my own little imaginary world :)

Observations

Orangeville was a very white town. It's changed a lot since we first moved there, but it was still mainly white. I've gotten comments that Whitby is also very white. Maybe, for a 110 000 people town, but after my ultrasound today, I will have to say that just because a town appears white, doesn't mean that it's not full of immigrants.
Every person (staff and clients) I saw/heard at the ultrasound office was white, but all had accents. And not British accents.
Ahead of me was a white teen girl and her mother. They were sitting and chatting, in a foreign language that sounded eastern European. It was a little agitated, and then all of a sudden, the teen slaps her leg and dramatically says "No! Are you serious?" and carries right on in her native language.
Hidden multiculturalism...I wonder if white immigrants face the same sort of racism/issues as non-whites?
I was waiting one day near the pharmacy in Wal-Mart. There were two ladies (sisters) chatting away. Two young boys, dressed in long white robes and white caps come walking by. The ladies snicker and make a few comments about Hallowe'en, and "you're in Canada now, eh". Would they say something like that to a white person wearing a religious necklace charm representing a non-Western religion? Would they scoff at a Texan wearing a big cowboy hat?
When we were house hunting, we drove around one new neighbourhood. Rob made several comments about there being no white people and he couldn't live there. The kids did find one white couple. They got quite excited. Then I heard them telling their friends that we didn't pick one house because everyone was brown and black and dressed funny. Would we have encountered reverse racism?

I find immigration and emigration fascinating. It's not something I think I'd ever do, and it must take a phenomenal amount of courage to leave your homeland. Why do some people think this is a reason to ostracize a stranger?

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

It was an unusual summer, one that I hope is not repeated again for a LONG time.

But in a good way. I've posted bits and bobs here already, and some of the saga on Facebook, but I thought this would be a good time to sit down and post the whole story.

When Rob and I got married October 1997, he had been working at Husky Injection Moulding in Bolton for six months. We found out the night before the wedding that we would have to find a new place to live after the honeymoon, so when we got back, we found a nice apartment in Orangeville. We immediately liked the town, although the first 5 weeks brought fog, freezing rain, a Christmas blizzard, and the great Ice Storm of Jan 98. In his early years at Husky, Rob kept hearing that most people don't make it to five years there. The joke was that the five year gift was a pink slip. But we bought a house anyway, knowing we couldn't rent for five years. It was a townhouse in a 'retro' backlane subdivision, on the emerging west end of town; the house was only 3 years old. (I'm moving things around and I have no idea how that all got underlined!)

Just before Lucy was born, the town decided to make changes to the 'guest' parking for our block and Rob decided we had to buy a 'real' house. That was late September 2002. He had passed the five year mark at Husky, although the threat of "lay off" (their nice way of saying 'fired') was always present. We started looking for a new house, but it wasn't until February 2006 that we found one! Meg was six months old when we moved in to our 'real' house. The kids immediately made friends, we loved the backyard and hot tub and our own driveway. We didn't like the distance to their school, but walking home became great exercise. I got involved with the school, made a great friend, and joined the newly formed Orangeville Community Band. Although Orangeville wasn't 'home' it had grown on us, even though Rob could not learn any street names, LOL.

In September 2008, Rob got a job interview at Bruce Nuclear Power Station, near Kincardine, Ontario. He had been applying for so many jobs with Ontario Power Generation, he was beginning to think there was something wrong with the on-line application process because he had never been offered an interview. We spent a day driving around the area, and although it was nice, and housing was affordable, I wasn't gung ho to uproot our family to move there--further away from the rest of the extended family. I would commit to three years in the hopes he could then get transferred. As it was, he didn't get the job, but his interest in working for OPG was refreshed and he kept applying. He ultimately wanted to get a position at Pickering Nuclear or Darlington, so we could re-locate to Durham Region again. Come home.

These pictures are all from that day.
In February, Rob was offered an interview for OPG, at their downtown Toronto location. Not being somewhere he had ever wanted to work, I was surprised he had even applied. In late March, they offered him the job. Although I was excited for him, I really wasn't keen on the job itself, and the location. It was 'supposed' to be moved to Pickering in a few years and he thought he could commit to commuting on the GO Train for 3 years, to downtown Toronto. There wasn't any practical way to live in Orangeville and commute to downtown. OPG sent out a pile of detailed forms for a thorough security check and the process began. We were aiming for a start date of early June.

There were some issues with the security clearance (their secretary, nothing about Rob, LOL). The start date kept getting pushed back. We decided to list our house in early June even though Rob had not yet 'passed' the security clearance. We were using the same agent we met in Sept 2002, and she thought it could take up to two months to sell our house in the current slow market. She was not optimistic about the selling price either, despite the work we had done in three years. The plan was for Rob to move to his parents once he started the job and he would be the preliminary house scouter, but we would wait for ours to sell before putting in any offers.

Well, we got our first offer in less than a week. The initial offer was low, but we worked through it to a better price. They had to sell their condo townhouse ("An easy sell") and wanted to close Sept 30. Perfect, I thought. The kids didn't want to be new on the first day of school, and having them in school would make packing SO much easier. We gave them two weeks to sell their home. Right before the two weeks were up, we got another offer. I think at this point, Rob still did not have a start date at OPG. The only 'problem' with this offer was that they needed to close on August 25 and that was not negotiable. We decided to take the offer, and the guy with the first offer declined to firm up. Our house was sold, and technically, Rob did not have a new job. LOL. Not only did we sell quicker than expected, we got quite a bit more than our agent thought we would!

So the new house got kicked up a notch. We had been down and gone through quite a few houses already, but nothing that we really wanted to put an offer on. We got a little less picky now that we had a date that was about 5 weeks away. However, houses were selling like hotcakes in Whitby! One sold firm in less than 12 hours. One fixer-upper had 7 offers (it was priced on the low side though, and did sell for quite a bit over asking, but only slightly lower than others in the area). One house looked great until Rob went back for a more detailed look, and was priced higher than we wanted. One was a great house, but we didn't like the neighbourhood. One was great, except for the hideous ceramic tiles throughout the house and the tiny kitchen and high taxes (Oshawa). We looked at an older (24 years old), larger house, very similiar to what we had in Orangeville. Rob wasn't impressed, compared to the new homes this one was SO dated, but he started talking crazy things about it, so I forced him to come take another look and show me all these 'issues'. It didn't seem so bad to him after the second visit, but still not what he had hoped for.

We were just about to put an offer on one house we quite liked, until we realized we were in the same neighbourhood as another one we also really liked, but had a bigger garage and the kids would have to be bussed. We set up a viewing for in a couple hours, with the kids this time. We headed out, disappointed, to see what the drive to the GO station would be like, and to check out that older house's neighbourhood again. We let the kids play at the park there, and it felt like home. Sure, the house needed work, but it had a finished basement and 4 bedrooms.

So we went back to the newer one, but this time with the kids. OMG, suddenly the house was WAY too small. While standing there in the mayhem of 3 kids running through the open concept living room/kitchen, Rob announced we'll put an offer in on the older house.

The owners were away for the weekend, so we had to wait a couple days. We got stalled on a $2000 difference and Rob was ready to walk away....but to what else? So he came around, and here we are!

Shortly after we got the offer on our house, Rob did get a start date, August 13--six months after the interview. He moved out to his parents, while I took care of much of the packing. We were using PODS---Portable, On Demand, Storage units. Sort of like shipping containers. The first one came August 8. In the evening of August 9, we had a horrible August thunderstorm, and Rob discovered in the morning that there was a slash in the roof of the POD and it had leaked. You can see pictures at Facebook, even if not a member. We didn't have a lot of stuff in it yet, and it appears there wasn't any damage, but we had to unload it and they came with a new one. Rob left to start his new job and I kept packing. My neice Allie came to stay, to help out and to visit, and before long, it was closing day.

However, during all this, we kept having issues with the mortgage lady at the bank. She would tell us one thing, then later, claim she hadn't known that it couldn't be done that way. This happened several times, despite us double checking and thoroughly questioning her. It was SO fustrating, and it didn't end with closing day. One thing after another, and Rob spent a while on the phone with her yesterday and just about lost it. How can you 'sell' mortgages and not even know how your own products work?!

On closing day, we knew we wouldn't get our new keys too early, the lawyer figured not until at least 2pm. Our house was being bought by the Perruzzo's, who had sold their house to "Idiots" (not their real name, LOL, we'll never know their real names). We were all closing on the same day. Our PODS left at 11:45am for the two hour trip, but we had to wait around for the key. At 2pm we called our lawyer to see if they had any idea of things were coming along. All they knew at this time, was that the Perruzzo's still did not have the money from the "Idiots"! At 4:30 Wendy, from our lawyer's, called. The Idiots, first time homebuyers, could not get their money in order and needed an extension by one day. The people we were buying from were fine with this, they had already moved out.

However, the problem was, our PODS were now at the new house, which we still did not own. ALL our stuff. We had a few snacks, a colouring book, and that's about it. Rob had to work the next day, and his work clothes were in Oshawa at his parents. We asked if a key could be left at the McNair's lawyers in Brooklin so that we could get on the road since we had no reason to stay in Orangeville with three extremely bored kids.

At 5:00, Wendy phoned to say the Perruzzo's were driving up with a bank draft, so we decided to wait around as there wasn't any point in rushing, only to get stuck in rush hour traffic through Toronto. At 6:15 Wendy called back to say they hadn't made it, and the office wasnt' going to wait any longer. She wouldn't be able to register the purchase anyway at that point. We headed out to Oshawa, making a stop in Whitby to check on the PODS and see if we could get anything useful out. Not even pajamas. Rob had left good clothes at his parents, so we spent the night there and he went to work in the morning.

Around 10am, the Peruzzo's money came through and our house was officially sold, and around noon, we had officially bought our new house. We (Rob's parents and the kids) headed over to the new house, and to get the keys. Not the homecoming I was expecting. If anyone knows Rob, they can only imagine how stressed he was about this whole ordeal. We really had no idea when we headed out the night before, if any of the deals would actually go through. The Idiots might not be able to get their money at all. Now, with the Perruzzo's having a bank draft, we were pretty much fine, but they could have gotten screwed. Not our issue, but who could tell how this would all turn out at that point. No one knew anything except that we were sleeping in our clothes somewhere other than our new house, LOL.

Pictures of the new house can also be seen on Facebook. The roof is in pretty rough shape, and was the first priority, especially after Rob poked a hole in it. The kids started school this week, Meg starts next week, and we are settling in. Went hot tub shopping last night. LOL.

We are quite happy to be back in Durham, although it's really odd being here as returning residents, but we're also very much newcomers. We need new doctors, vet, dentists, etc. Whitby has grown so much in 12 years, we're almost strangers in our own town! But that's okay. I am just so thrilled to be back 'home'.

Am I Really Different?

Recently I found a website that is a reader-written blog, by new (and some not-so-new) mothers. The aim of the website is to showcase post-natal bodies and support other moms as they come to terms with their new bodies. Sounds great. But there are some common themes new moms write about that really irk me.

Many moms mention celebrities and how they feel they should be able to look like them just as quickly after having a baby. I NEVER thought that. Why would I? I'm not a model or celebrity. Those women are who they are partly because they are genetically unusual, LOL. The benefit of being in the tiny statistical abnormal group of women and then a celebrity, is the abundance of money. Surplus money can easily be used to 'buy' time and people. They can pay for nannies, cooks, drivers, assistants, cleaners, personal trainers. They don't have to focus on primarily being a new mother, if they don't want to. They can afford, both financially and hence time wise, to spend 4 hours a day in a gym.
I can't do that; it never occured to me to think that I should be able to. And hence, that I should look like a celebrity--post natal or otherwise.
Of course, being the person I am, I see the other side too, LOL. Those celebrities do what they do post-natally partly because it is their career...it is a self-perpetuating cycle, if they want it to continue. To be a celebrity, they must maintain their form; being a celebrity allows them the freedom to do so.

The other common theme that drives me bonkers is women who put on 30, 40, 50 or more pounds during pregnancy, and expected to lose it with birth. Seriously, many women expect to come home from the hospital looking like before the positive test. I just don't see how they thought it was possible, even if they put on only 15lbs. Baby averages just under 8lbs, placenta is 3lbs, uterus is 2lbs, increased blood is 2lb, increased fluids is 2lb and suggested fat increase is 5lbs. That's 22lbs. Not all of that can be lost with birth. And if you put on more than the average 11lbs that can be lost with birth, how do you expect to suddenly lose it? Even the ones that think by 6 weeks they should have lost 30lbs make me want to shake my head. Women are horrified that by 6 weeks they still have a soft tummy, stretch marks, and extra weight.

Now, I was a little sad with my post natal body, LOL, but I never expected to look 'perfect' after the birth, or by 6 weeks, or even by 6 months. I don't understand how these women are coming to the conclusion that all evidence of pregnancy should be eliminated by 6 weeks. They usually say 'the media' lead them to believe that would be possible and NORMAL. So it comes back to celebrities again?

Am I unusual that I don't form my ideals, ideas, or values from strangers that the media has decided are the idea of ideal? Why is it I don't look at Angelina and think I should look like that? Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who doesn't want to emulate these strangers.
Then there are days I am surprised everyone else doesn't want to babywear. And days it surprises me that some knitters don't knit socks. And other days I get a reality check when I hear a 3 year old talk like an adult.

We all have our own realities; why would I try to emulate that of a professional perfectionist?

Not Sure Why We Still Need to Learn This

Is it crazy that World Breastfeeding Week was chosen as the week to introduce the first disposible, pre-filled, baby bottle? (I'm not 100% sure it was intro-ed last week, but it connects well). Hathor has a series of great articles and comics about it.
And to those that say no baby has died because they weren't breastfed? The WHO estimates that 1.5 MILLION children die each year because they were not adequately breastfed. How does Nestle think SELLING disposible bottles to already impoverished mothers is going to 'fix' that?
Human milk for human babies. It's so simple.

The Final Chapter?

It was just over a year ago that I wrote my mini-series on "Forgiveness" (look to the right and click on the "Health" label...you'll have to scroll down a bit once the posts come up). Some things have happened during this year, like I've written a bit about. One big thing is that on August 25, we are moving back to Whitby, where I grew up. So, we've had to house hunt! We looked at one house that we really liked, but would really stretch our budget. Rob and his parents went back to the open house to do a closer inspection--if we were to buy it, we couldn't afford to do much work so we wanted to know before putting the offer in. Turns out the selling agent is the homeowner, and a former Whitby Senior teacher, and her husband was a Henry St. High School teacher.

Once Rob got home and told me this, I got out a yearbook to look him up--I remembered the name but he didn't teach 'my' subjects (yeah, I never did get to take boys phys. ed). As I flipped through the yearbook, I passed a picture I've looked at a lot over the past 20 years....one of me and my old friend--the one I wrote the forgiveness series about. As I looked at the picture, the FIRST thought to come into my head, was "I miss him; my friend".

Whoah! There was no 'but', no 'if only', no 'I wish'. Even though it was my own thought, it surprised me at it's purity and simpleness. I felt like I had finally healed. I thought I had before, but I've always wondered "How will I know if I am truly over this?". How do you test that? The events of that night are still a frequent visitor to my late night sleepless thoughts, but not with any anger or hate, and I thought that was enough. I guess it wasn't. To be able to look at a picture--taken around that time--and to think only of missing him? I had to sit down, LOL.

After mulling this over for a few days, I decided to send him a message on Facebook. When we first re-connected he expressed an interest to be friends again....but how do you do that? We live in different areas---neither of us in our hometowns. He's a dad of 3, I'm a mom of 3, but that's not the same thing. I really don't know much about his past 20 years. And, although we exchanged a few messages, he wasn't on FB a whole lot. There are some other people--including men--who I've reconnected with after a long absence in our friendship, but they tend to be on FB a lot, LOL, or we have a common interest (ie--one tried to get us to move to his area of Whitby). I would have loved to have this friendship with my old friend too.

I went to my Friend List...and couldn't find him! Had he deleted me as a friend? I went to someone else's list who was also his friend, and he wasn't there either! I searched FB, and he's no where to be found. I didn't have an email address for him. All I could remember is where he's living now, what his business does (but not the name), and the name of his wife. I searched for her, and she was still on FB. I sent her a message asking if my friend was alright and that I had something I wanted to share. She responded back that he just hadn't found FB too interesting and dropped his account. I'm relieved, LOL, but now what? Long distance friendship is hard, FB really helped, especially for more casual friendships. I just wanted to share this with him. Hope he's doing well and my email is always open, LOL, tracykm at yahoo dot com :)

Writing

I've been reading again. I used to read non-stop. I'd read while walking and doing my paper route. I'd read while eating breakfast, while watching TV. Books were always honest, never two-faced, never teased. As an extension of reading, I used to write a lot. Poetry, short stories, and journalling. I haven't written in a long time. Yes, I have the blogs, and sometimes I get a little deep, but it's not the same as the journals I kept. I no longer have the journals, and that saddens me (even though I'm to blame for not having them). I've tried to keep journals for the kids, about them, but it was too hard to write only about Lucy in her book, and only about Huey in his book, and so often I'd just print out an email I had written about them, or hope that the many pictures in the box would suffice to keep my memories fresh.

Many of the books I've been reading have been about natural pregnancy, birth, childcare, and an interesting category--non-instructional parenting books. Books by parents, about parenting, but not necessarily HOW to parent (one, in fact, was actually a book of knitting essays by a 'famous' knitting blogger, but some of the essays were about parenting). I don't need the "how-to" books anymore, never really used them anyway as my challenging kids didn't really fit most of the standard books.

The latest book I'm reading is "Because I Said So" compiled by Camille Peri and Kate Moses. The subtitle says "33 Mothers Write about Children, Sex, Men, Aging, Faith, Race & Themselves". I'm not sure what I was thinking; probably little fluff ditties like on the back pages of parenting magazines: "I'm a bad mom cause the kids watch TV while I nap" or "I'm conflicted about being a mom because I can't go for a pedicure every week". But it's not that sort of thing at all.

The first essay is about a modern day, American witch hunt against a single Islamic mother. There's an essay on American Girl dolls, one about being a white family on the edge of a ghetto and how one son 'turns black', one about the American wife of an Iranian refugee who goes back with her family to Iran for her first visit, one about boys growing up to be men, one about a woman who gives in to California culture and hires a Latino nanny.

I found each one fascinating. Not always relateable by direct co-relation to the factual events, but relateable by the invisible silk thread that ties all mothers. One essay particularly moved me. "Ourselves, Carried Forward" by Beth Kephart. I didn't know where it was going by it's opening paragraph, but it's about memories. "There is little democracy when it comes to telling stories; the best stories always rule. The untold stories fade away, and memory goes flaccid." Perhaps that's why I like journalling--I felt my stories were perhaps not unique, but were still mine and I didn't want them lost. We are, essentially, our memories.
I am, in ways, opposite to the writer--I DO remember my primary teachers, I DID write my childhood. The writer's husband is the one with memories that get told and remembered; Rob never writes, rarely shares stories, but many times he has made it clear that my memories are not worth remembering.

Then the writer asks "Who are we after the first long sprint of motherhood is through? What parts of our history do we return to ourselves when the days shift in shape and size and tempo?" Wow. This ties in so strongly to what is going on in our lives right NOW that I haven't even had the time to share. We are returning to the area of our youth. While it is, by name, the same, it is still NOT the same town as we left. I was a young, childless bride when I left; what am I now?
The writer talks about the things of her childhood that she brought forth into her motherhood--sit down dinners, kick ball, hiking in fresh snow. Her kids knew the words to the songs she knew as a child. "My childhood nested in my son's, somehow. The girl I was is in the boy he's been. The past carried forward, planted, and sprouted, and not because it was merely good enough, but because it was whole, it was happy. Who are we after the first long sprint of motherhood is through? We are ourselves, carried forward."

She talks about remembering who she was before she was a mother. Who was I? Who was that young lady who couldn't bear to look at her beloved home as she drove off to a new life? Some of the things I was, I am ashamed of, regretful, embarrassed. I'm also ashamed and embarrassed of what I wasn't. What I never got the chance to be, due to failed relationships, political changes, lack of initiative and self-fatalism. I mourn the loss of my teaching career constantly. In a culture that defines who a person is by what the person does, I was a nothing. My plans, ever since I was five, was to teach. No one ever mentioned that a new government would come into power just as I was graduating, and eliminate virtually all new teaching positions in Ontario. That wasn't part of my plan. Although my plan was flexible (I could substitute teach), it wasn't enough.

I feel like I have spent the past 14 years waiting for my life to begin. The memories of this time are not the memories my youthful memories thought I'd have.

"The exhaustion of motherhood is cumulative. Exuberance is tempered by the many choices a mother makes. Pathways narrow when a woman has a child, because incautiousness yields consequences, and irresponsibility is selfish, and the dreams one dreams on behalf of a child are the dreams one does not dream for one's self."

"We bring our own selves and stories forward when the first long sprint of motherhood is through. We reconcile who we were to who we'll be...."

What stories am I going to bring forward? What memories of myself will become my children's memories also? I find this both fascinating and frightening.