You can't buy happiness but you can buy cupcakes. it's kind of the same thing.

Happiness is...

Hard to define and sometimes even harder to achieve. It differs for everyone, and changes day to day.
Is happiness making confetti cupcakes at 9:30 in the morning on a Wednesday. Hurricane Girlchild seems to think so.

Maybe we all need to take a page out of the 5 year old's handbook for life. If it makes you happy do it. Everyone else be damned.
Can you imagine the chaos? self indulgent. hedonistic. blissful. chaos.

 But it's not that easy. We are adults, and have responsibilities. That's what runaway weekends to Vegas are for.

What brings me to write about this is a 'conversation' I had with a dear old friend yesterday. By conversation I mean an instant messaging exchange, which isn't really a conversation at all, but if you know someone well enough you can get a lot out of the words they type- it challenges a person to be descriptive and explanatory. I read the words in their voice, I can imagine their facial expressions and feel their tone. It was a bit of a fluke that we both found ourselves online at the same time-and I was pleased to see his name come up as we haven't spoken in ages.
But in the first sentence he wrote I could feel his sadness, like a hand reaching for yours in the dark.
"Shan you there?"
Not the common- hey how are you? or HI! what's going on?

I'm here. I'm always here. 

During our exchange, I discover that Dear old friend has found himself at the end of his rope. Now hating the big city he has called home for many years and is looking for a change. I can still taste the bitterness of his words describing the hatred for his current home. He plays with the idea of moving to another province in search of some peace and happiness. His language made me sad for him, wishing I could reach out and offer a hug. I could almost hear the despair in his voice as he typed and typed and typed. Opening up to me, with frustration regarding his circumstance.
Why don't you just come home?  I ask. You can always come home.

Not able to pursue his dream here. No appropriate work in his field... says Dear old friend 'The Musician'.

So the question that I ask myself is this-where do you even begin to look for happiness? Especially when you are pursuing a dream. At what point do you let go of your dream and take work to pay the bills and do your music part time? Or do you dedicate everything to your craft and passion and focus just on music?

I don't envy Dear old friend's need to make a decision to move. Picking up and relocating at this point in my life seems like an arduous task. Re establishing yourself in a new city, especially as an artist seems frightening to me.
It also begs the question- will the situation be any better elsewhere?
Is true happiness something that will be found in a new city? Or, is it simply the pursuit of happiness that keeps one from looking around and realizing that  maybe you already have all you need in order to be happy- at least for today?

These are questions that can't be answered for Dear old friend during an instant messaging chat or even as I write this blog. From the language used I can tell his mind is already made up. A move is in his future.

We want what is best for our loved ones, friends and family alike. Do we want them to give up on their dreams and pursue a life more ordinary if that will create peace and happiness for them? Is stability the key to happiness? or is chaos?  Depends on the day - and maybe, just maybe that's the trick, waking each day and looking around for your 'happy' if that means eating cupcakes for breakfast on a Wednesday or Thursday or Friday.

Fortunately for him- have guitar case will travel. Nothing tying him down. Those of us here in the Heart of the Continent will be waiting- with open arms.

  








  

  


 

I want to be a cowboy

Today Hurricane Girlchild asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up.
I didn't have the heart to burden her with the fact that I haven't really grown up, and truth be told I still have the question unanswered in my own head.

I'm hopelessly immature, farts make me laugh. Out loud. I get endless amounts of joy from disgusting poop stories and I laugh when people fall and run into things. I am helpless when it comes to sexual innuendo and I  love a good dirty joke. Grown up. Not a chance. I am a 13 year old boy.

So what do I want to be when I eventually grow up?  I have to go back in time and reflect.

I studied at University thinking I would be a teacher. I love working with kids, and have done so as long as I can remember. But life called me away from school and I did some adventuring instead.

Then I enrolled to start Nursing. I abandoned that path in order to take a chance on being a small business owner with Spouse. That was an education that couldn't be paid for, and we learned a lot.

Then my career as a mom began. We waited longer than most of our friends to start our family, but I'm grateful that I did a lot of living before I started punching that clock. Some days it's a thankless job, but I see the benefits around me everyday, and know that I am doing a good job, even though my kids are sometimes a pain in the ass.

I have a long list of 'shit I'm good at' but no real passion to speak of. I am house proud and love to spend time with my family. I am learning to not put off writing and fear the feedback. I am seeing  a blank page on the screen as a challenge, although I have to resist filling the empty lines with belly laugh inducing poop stories. Is writing my passion? perhaps it is beginning to be.

IF I could be anything in the world - and have a dream career. I would write. I would travel the world and write amazing travelogues and experience people and lands far away. Tasting exotic foods and walking endless markets full of spices and textiles. But kids don't fit in with this vision. I can't imagine walking with a hot, whiny  5 year old  through  Morocco's Djemaa el Fna or Merkato in Addis Ababa.
The Boy would starve, because of his reluctance to try new foods and his epic aversion to vegetables.

So where does that leave me? 

Still writing. But in a basement in the Heart of the Continent. Dreaming that someday my kids will be able to travel with me to these wonderful, hot and seductive far away lands.

Do I currently have a dream job. You bet. I'm a mom. It was also always my dream.

I think I may have to start writing about sticky South American jungles in my backyard, and the barren landscape of the African deserts in our sandbox. The dress up box is my ticket to visiting with exotic people from around the world. The internet is my recipe book for new and exciting dishes made with spices I cannot pronounce but can buy at the bulk barn rather than an endless open air market jammed with shoppers.

So what do I want to be when I grow up?  A proud mom, with amazing kids that look back on their childhood and laugh. Or a cowboy. I've always wanted to be a cowboy.  

Mom is da Bomb

Our family recently welcomed two new and very beautiful babies into it's large and dysfunctional fold.
My young cousins are enjoying the first few days and weeks of parenthood. Those halcyon days when you hold this mewling human in your arms for hours and wonder how on earth you were allowed to go home with it, let alone be left in charge.

I'm waxing nostalgic, as the Xbox blares in my ear and my oldest child ignores my pleas for him to get ready to go back to school. Hurricane Girlchild bugs me relentlessly about another baby in the house and I  adamantly refuse her offers of helping to take care of her new baby sister or brother. This kitchen is closed. I'm far too long in the tooth to be welcoming another wee one. We will enjoy the new baby bundles that visit and we can babysit so tired new parents can have a nap or have some very important couple time. That's a thing that mom's learn, better than any card or bouquet of flowers- the gift of time.  

Speaking of gifts, Mother's Day is coming just in case you were blissfully unaware of the mountainous card and flower displays in every drug store on the planet. Mom's should be celebrated, which got me to thinking about all of the super cool chicks I know who are moms, want to be moms and all things mom related.

I am proud to call among my 'posse' of super coolio broads -single moms, step moms, adopted moms, wanna be moms, those who miss their moms, old moms, new moms, working moms, stay at home moms and four legged baby moms. It's a mommy wolf pack.

I am fiercely proud of the bitches I call friends. They put up with my shit and me calling them bitches because I love them and they are well, bitches. I am called bitch right back. Those chicks are tough and they'll cut you if you get in the way of their mommy-ing. Not a street gang kind of cut you- but more a Volvo driving soccer mom kind of cut- like running her cart into your car in a parking lot or something else just as covert. I told you they were bitches.

After drinks with my 'gal pals' as Spouse affectionately calls them, I always walk away amazed at their strength and patience. These woman can and will do anything. The laundry list of demands on these chicks is overwhelming. The challenges of ex wives and baby mommas, blending families or raising kids on their own-  it blows my mind. The moms who are learning to give all they can to their special needs kids and don't forget  the mom who is fighting cancer.
Add to this all of the day to day mom shit that has to be dealt with like running a household, working, volunteering and being a partner, daughter, sister or aunt. There's a lot of shit going on.

No wonder we drink.  

So as I hang up the phone after a conversation with my own Grandmother who is so excited about her two new GREAT Grand babies ( number 9 and 10- wow.) I can't help but think about how lucky I am to be surrounded by my own group of Mothers- Grandmas, Aunties, Mother in Law and Mom.
They are all bat shit crazy, parenting will do that to you.  
Aside from being insane, these are the women who taught us to be strong and good to each other, because every mom needs the support.
   
moms put the 'HER' in Hero.