My lastest olympic thoughts... that is until the paralympics get here! we have tickets for sledge hockey, so looking forward to that!

http://lorriemiller.wordpress.com/about/aspirations-of-olympic-proportio...

I have always had a thing for sparkley spandex suits and dramatic flowing skirts fluttering over the ice rink to equally dramatic tunes. And tonight when the Canadians knocked the Gold from the Russians for the first time since 1960, it was sweet. But what was even sweeter were the hugs that the Amerian Silver-winning team and the Canadian Team shared with each other, they were so genuinely thrilled for one another. (they also apparently train together). Sweeter yet, my little children whooping at the win, and then singing the national anthem when it played during the medal ceremony. I got a big fat lump in my throat. This cheering on sports is all kind of new to me. I'm the artsy mom, the egg-head mom, not the sport mom, but I'm learning. (just had a 6 page glossy article in Concrete Wave, a skateboarding mag, about parenting speedy children, so I've been learning a bit about sport)

Then I took three of my four kiddies to watch women's curling last week and whitnessed a tight race between the Russians and Americans... and the Americans won a solid victory in the 10th end.
http://wp.me/Pzj1x-8A
I was prepared for bored kids, for 'when can we go' or 'is it over yet' and then they surprised me again, 'mom, when can we go curling???'. Who knew? So, following the olympics, i have promised to take them curling. And yes, I've curled before, but its been more than a decade, possibly two, but it's never tooo late to learn. I think...

Je n'existe pas... I posted earlier today even... and now it is all gone. Funny how empty that feels. I hope the old posts, recent posts are able to be put back up... I don't keep copies;(.

At the crack of 4:40am my hubby flew away for a week of skiing with his brother in France. I'm home with the monkeys and I don't mind a bit. Took the two little ones to the beach for some sand and water play before the day's soccer games (for them) were underway.

Finn figured that if we were going to the beach, then, he'd better go for a dip. He put together his gear, and slipped on his wetsuit (shorty). Coco got a couple tennis rackets and a ball, put on some shorts and a ball cap and we piled into the car.

We could have walked, but the trek back up the hill just before an hour of intense soccer would have been too much. So, three minutes later (lame to take the car!!!) we were there.

It was a great way to spend the morning and I should do it more often seeing as we live so close. But the rains of winter don't lend themselves too this play. We have had the most uncanny fabulous weather. I kind of hope the world doesn't get the idea tha this is typical vancouver weather, it's not. This is June (but colder) weather. And I'm enjoying every bit of it.

Off to soccer!
and tomorrow, more olympic fun. Wonder what we'll do next?
L

All too often I hear... gosh (my word, not the word I actually hear) the games are too expensive for regular folks to go. All I'd like to say is, how much do 'regular' hockey tickets cost? well Olympic tickets are LESS. And on top off, that the Paralympics are less $$ than they should be. You can see the Gold medal game for $50.00 canadian, eh. And these are stellar athletes too.

We took three of our kids, and we are 'regular folks', to see Swiss thump Slovakia. Okay, that's not exactly fair, there wasn't any thumping at all, but the third period was intense. Did I mention these were the women's hockey games? Fine players... not as fine as the Canadians (or the Americans) mind you, but it was good hockey none the less. I found the men's hockey TOO expensive for regualr folks... this is true, as is the figure skating and speed skating, but part of that is that I didn't buy any tickets until four weeks ago. If I had purchased tickets before they were being resold at 'market value' I could have a chance with the figure skating (couldn't even get a training session). Everything was sold out.

We will take in some women's curling and also a victory ceremony (medals and music). But much of our time has been attending free events downtown vancouver, watching big animals (stuffed animals) skate for the kiddies, first nations drummers, singers, and dancers perform at a few places. There are also numerous pavilions with displays and activities and tonnes of cultural events to attend (If you're into that sort of thing... and I am). Da Vinci machine show at the Vancouver ARt gallery...free, Library Voices (band) at the Sask pavilion... free... more and more fun stuff for free. okay.

Mostly I have had fun feeling the energy of people on the streets of my sleepy ol' vancouver. I love the visitors, the tatooed cheeks, the flags (all kinds). We'll see how the next few weeks pan out!
here is a link to a few of my family olympic fun.
http://lorriemiller.wordpress.com/

Okay, I am not one for make-up, not anymore at least. I was the plucked-brow queen, and l'artist de-eye-shadow when I was a teen and even occasionally in my early twenties. But over the years, I have relied upon my inner beauty and charm to carry me through the day.

This doesn't always work. With a bout of Rosacea (red face ailment)and a serious case of fatigue, this morning was a make-up morning. Not a lot, just a bit of foundation with a bit of mascara, and maybe a hint of pink or green on my lids, that and coffee, and I was good to go.

But no. It wasn't that simple. You see, my rather chaotic drawer was depleted of these very items. I had my foundation and application sponges, even my favourite lipstick (okay my only lipstick), but no mascara, no eye-liner, no shadow!!! WTF. I pulled my drawer apart. then I dug into my husband's drawer, then my daughters. I found nothing nothing nothing that would do.

Then I had to think back to when I last wore make-up... any at all. It had only been about 12 or thirteen days, but I was certain as there was an evening event for some gal friends of mine. Sooo.

Then it nagged at me, who has been in my drawer? I have a cleaner than comes in every other week, a very trusted cleaner, but she hires a helper, a gal I didn't know. And yuck why was I even thinking that someone would want to lift my mascara, even my new tube of rather good quality mascara? Why would I even think of that... but then my liner and shadow too? Had I lost my mind, did I wear my makeup some where I had completely forgotten, and applied it in the car? I'll have to check, but I don't think so. My purse has nothing but receipts and bills. buts of paper and hand cream (which doesn't really qualify as makeup).

I will ask my daughter again. I am sure I wouldn't be the first mother to have her nine-year-old experiment with her pricey face-paint, but then to fib about it? sigh... I even asked my grade 10 Mohawk sportin' sixteen-year-old son, he furrowed his bushy brow and said 'you have got to be kidding?' just thought I'd check.

I would like to chalk this all up to some bout of senility, carelessness on my part and be done with it. Ahhh that's what I'll do, plead insanity to myself. this is bettern than blaming anyone else or being paranoid, besides, I don't think I could manage without my extra cleaning help, it is only two times a month (would prefer daily... but no such luck).So there you have it, the sock monster in the dryer, the one that eats only one sock from a pair, that is who took my make-up I am certain.

Now I can gather my kiddies, pick up some new goop, and go watch the torch run down the hill (Olympic that is), and cheer with my smilin' face properly painted... but if it's still raining, I'll settle for some good ol' inner glow and charm.

Last week, all four of my children came home with school report cards, and for the first time, they were all relatively pleased with what was written on them. As a parent, it is a delicate task to interpret the school report card, especially in front of my child.

I am never quite sure what to expect when I first glance down at the columns of numbers, letters, codes and comments. But, having done this for some 12 years, I have developed some strategies. First of all, I find the absolute best grade or comment and then I read it aloud after, of course, having already pre-read it. Then I praise them for their efforts, and I ask how they felt they did, what they liked best and so on. This way, the conversation starts off well, and then we go through the whole report. I always pre-read the entire thing before hand. This is especially true of my elementary/primary school children. My teens read their own reports long before I ever get a glance—they know what’s coming.

What do you do when your child doesn’t perform at the level you hoped he or she would, or rather could? This is the situation we have found ourselves in time and time again.

Having given this topic much consideration, I wrote more. It is posted on my blog in full. I'd love your thoughts and comments. It's a topic that is often over shadowed by the joyous and busy season at hand, but report cards happen more than in just June, at least the December report allows for change and improvement for the second term, if need be.

cheers.
l
http://lorriemiller.wordpress.com/2009/12/21/tis-the-season-for-report-c...

Do you every get that dizzy feeling, like you can't stand up, like your head is about to burst, when you open a box of photos that you had forgotten you'd even lived through let alone documented the proof of it?

Well, I have been a mother for over 17 years and I have proof. Not only the four kids, two of whom tower over me, but the boxes and boxes of kids art, photos, slides and birthday,christmas, mother's day, father's day cards to prove it.

I am neck deep in this archival pool of personal history, and I just wanted to share... that's partly why I haven't been more than a blip on the screen for weeks... maybe it will be weeks more yet. Depends on how the sorting goes.
cheers mamas
L
http://lorriemiller.wordpress.com/2009/11/24/my-life-flashed-before-my-e...

Okay, I know it will never really stop. Not really. So, I have to breathe. Take a moment and bring the cool moist air of the rainforest into me, and slow down.

Sometimes my illness... I like to say recovery, forces me to do this whether I want to or not, but that usually entails a nap, and being flat out and sad about it.

But now I am updating my photos and wrote a tribute to my favorite short story writer, Alice Munro who is fighting cancer

and then to work on another article and finish this bloody reno stuff. yikes.
thinking of posting for a while, but busy busy, and just reading a few of your own. love knowing all you mamas are there

http://lorriemiller.wordpress.com/photos/still-life-collected-things-or-...
and
http://lorriemiller.wordpress.com/

I wrote already that my son participated in this event, but now I have an aricle live on an e-zine about the event. I love it when communities and causes blend to make great things happen!

L.
a link to the article and photos is here:
http://lorriemiller.wordpress.com/

Ok, so I tease him, but I love him mullet and all. My son, Wolf is in a longboard event (that is a big skateboard) where they are pushing, not downhill, for three days covering the territory from Hope, BC. right into Vancouver, BC. to Stanley Park. This is a long a grueling event totalling 156km, or 97 miles. But it gets better, it actually is an event mostly done by young folks and with the majority being young men, who are raising awareness and money for The CAnadian Breast Cancer Foundation. The push is actually all across Canada, this weekend, but he is riding in the BC, Vancouver to Hope leg. He has raised, $400.00 today alone.(in total too), but the push is still a few days away yet, we'll see what the final tally is after.

When he was about 12, he shaved his very long hair for cancer, raised 800 plus donated all the hair to a company that makes human hair wigs for kids with cancer.

I am just so proud of him I could cry, and I wanted to share this with all you mamas.

My son, my dear sweet fifteen, almost sweet sixteen year old son, came home Sunday with a Mullet and wearing a pair of ACID WASH jeans. Now, if you are anywhere near as old as I am, this is beyond outrageous, it is sacrilege. But I feel torn. It is funny--funny that both my hubby and I hugged our dear boy and told him just how retro, how 80s he looked, how we couldn't believe that they sold jeans like that!

He likes his look, it's clean, he's a bit alternative, no surprise there, and well he's our boy. His look is inoffensive. His white and blue striped Mohawk, now has grown in, and he's trimmed away all the coloured bits so now it is his regular dark brown.

To be honest his mullet has been trimmed up enough that it is less mullety now than post Mohawk. It's now more new-wavy.

Guess, part of being torn is that his 'look' is just so darn close to what we all were like when we were in high school, that it is somewhat startling, but they do it with a sense of selfless humour. The farmer hat is somehow 'cool'. That was never cool when I was a teen, only grandpa's and farm boys wore those. But now seems it can be a part of everyone's look... except mine. I'll never do it, nor will I don a pair of jeans that look like one spilled bleach all over them...

Here he is! My lovely lad:

a twisted mama, perhaps. but if you can't laugh, what the hell can ya do?

If you want to see the second installment of Ranting parent's late-onset, post partum... and my weary tale of woe and dark humour. (honest it is satire...)

L
http://rantingparent.com/page8/files/b5790ab88b4065840e9ee9ddaf0874bb-81...

Okay, I couldn't resist reading this site. I have them on my twitter, and the topic kind of just jumped out. Maybe all you hipsters have opinions you want to share on this topic too, seeing as there are a lot of strong opinions about the soul-sucking factor of FB.

ciao.
L
http://www.rookiemoms.com/tip-17-how-not-to-bore-your-friends-on-social-...

I imagine my ad; fantasize about the first meeting and what I might say... this is the story that unfolds in my fantasy...

http://lorriemiller.wordpress.com/satirical-musings/not-so-evil-twin/

Sadly, it is not far from the truth, sadly, there is no nanny to rescue me.
Happily, I have a sense of humour--hope you do too.
L

Today.
Bigger better, shinier fridge--with ice maker.
five burner gas stove--be hooked up tomorrow
silent, dishwasher
front loading washer and drier.
stonger garborator

i am mind-boglinglingly happy,shallow I know, but I wanted to share.

L

If anyone has any doubt about their parenting abilities... be rest assured. Check out these ever so helpful tips!!

Luna

http://www.rantingparent.com/Tips%20For%20New%20Parents/tipsfornewparent...

Okay, I like satire, what can I say. Hope others do too.
So, here is a link to my bit that went live today on another Ranting Parent;)

http://rantingparent.com/page8/useyourwords.html

cheers!

My daughter is turning nine years old in less than a month, and with the date so close, of course, her party planning has just hit high gear. I swear she will become a social planner, or a serious party-girl. Yikes.

So, yesterday I took the kiddies for a test-ride at the local stables. A one time lesson to see if she wants to take eight or ten of her friends horseback riding for a couple of hours. Chloe, my near nine year old, and Finn my near five and a half year old, learned how to gather the tack, prep the horse, and then ride around the ring for an hour with guidance a riding instructor.

After the hour, it was settled, the pony party was on. But what I hadn't expected, but should have, "I want a horse, lessons, and we can do this every week... please?" Dollars and hours evaporated before my eyes.

Luckily I am good at saying no. There are many practical reasons for this, ie: time and money. But it is rather dangerous. I think that an introductory lesson to riding a horse, a very child friendly pony, is a lot less dangerous than a confident rider getting on the back of a less than trustworthy animal. My husband's sister met with such an accident resulting in two fractured vertebrae. No paralysis, but still very serious. At the same time, I don't want to frighten the children from every riding. After all, I can't remember the first time I rode a horse, seems I must have been very very young, because i always had access to them as a child and often took pleasure in trotting around the farm with my uncle, or grandparents on hand (depending on which farm). I took my proximity to the farms and animals for granted. It was a childhood rather removed from the upbringing I have provided my own children.

This pony birthday party is a bit of a birthday fantasy for me. I would have loved it as a nine-year-old girl; no more pin the tail on the donkey or other lame birthday games. This is something almost grown-up, but not the princess spa thing, or karaoke. And if she really likes it, and if it breaks her father’s heart to see his darling little girl soooo happy on a horse, maybe he’ll give in. He’s not quite as good at saying no, not to his little princess. I hope she doesn’t know that, just yet.

Tomorrow is our first day of school, still much to do... birthday planning will have to go on hold for a few hours.

Above the bed was the lunar glowing IKEA satellite, under the covers was my little son. “Sing me a song mommy, the one about the moon... it goes somping like... I forget.”

I lay down beside him with my arm under his head, and I started,

Blue moon...
you saw me standing alone...
without a dream in my heart,
without a love of my own.

Blue moon,
you know just what I was there for,
you heard me singing a prayer for,
someone I really could care for

I was into the second stanza, as he sang an echo of me, when I realized that I’ve been singing these old jazz standards as lullabies for my babies for about thirteen years. They roll off my tongue as old friends, words I don’t even think about, just a feeling of comfort and joy as I give them to my children. Sometimes I sing them around the house, when I’m not singing along to some classic Nirvana Come as you are... as you were... as i want you to be... as a friend, as a trend... as an old enemy. They just don’t make for good lullabies... (sorry Curt)

And then suddenly
There appeared before me
The only one my arms would ever hold
I heard somebody whisper
Please adore me
And when I looked
The moon had turned to gold

I remember when Chloe, who will be nine next month, would sing with me in the bath at the old house how the room would echo and we would fill the room with steam and song. Though she knew, knows, the words to blue moon, her favourite song is ‘Feelin’ Good (birds flying high... you know how I feel... sun in the sky...) I love that one too, particularly when Nina Simone sings it. I nearly called Chloe Nina when she was born, but obviously, I didn’t.

Each of my older sons had their faves too, but all four children were fond of the simplicity and the singability of Blue moon. They always end up gesturing to the song like pre-school mime. The sing it to me like I am the only love in their lives, and it fills my heart so much it could burst, four times over. Such a simple gift is a song, a lullaby, a hug and a kiss good night.

Blue moon,
Now I’m no longer alone
Without a dream in my heart
Without a love of my own
Blue moon

“Where's the tonic? Have you seen the tonic?” I called through the house.

“Gus!!! Have you seen the tonic?”

“Ya, it’s either there in the fridge,” he poked his rather shaggy head into the refrigerator, thus obliterating my view entirely. Four half-filled, half-empty catsup bottles, that’s all I could see. Somehow with my four days away from the house, my husband and two teenage boys managed to get four bottles on the go. No one had thought to check the fridge before opening another.... but more importantly, where’s my tonic?

I opened up the pantry, and checked the recycling. Only one empty can. I know there is another in here somewhere.

“Here it is, Mom, behind the mustard at the back of the fridge.” He handed it to me and smiled.

I cracked the can, listened to the hiss of the carbonation escape the aluminum. Evil drink, I think, sugar, bubbles in a single serve container. At least it isn’t aspartame or some other unknown; at least it is recyclable. How bad can a little aluminum tainted sugar water be? Who cares? I squeezed one quarter of a lime into my glass of ice, then another quarter lime. They were small limes. Then the tonic. It gurgled and fizzed all over the ice, and the lime wedges floated along the surface of the bubbles, bounced into the rim of the glass. I put the rest of the can into the fridge for later.

Gus, who had already run off doing a few chores in hopes for a few bucks, stuck his head back into the kitchen, “isn’t it a little early for a drink, Mom?” His grin split his face in two, with his perfect Chiclet smile as he teased his ol’ mom.

“It’s just tonic and lime.” I snapped.

“Thought it was a drink,” he said, he who woke me at two in the morning with the squeak of the bathroom door, he who smelled of beer and stale cigarettes, he who sleeps until noon. He.. who... I could go on, but why?
It should be, I thought. “It’s four -twenty, that’s plenty late enough.”

“Four-Twenty,” he laughed, and hauled the bin of dive gear from the front hall to the garage. Four twenty, the famous pot bill, marks one of his favourite time of the year, April 20th at 4:20pm—the annual smoke-in demonstration downtown. And he says to me: isn’t it too early for a drink! Funny boy.

So, my gin will wait for another hour to swill in the waters of my tonic. I’d only woken from a nap, no drinking while groggy. Tonic or just a plain and wonderful water is all I could handle until fully awake. I have no guilt, not really, about enjoying a drink on a sunny summer afternoon. I have kids, like him, who on occasion... would drive me to it, if I were so inclined to be driven. I am not driven, but do take the pleasure. And it is Friday, after all.

Cheers my mamma friends! T.G.I.F

We were recently away camping, adventuring, and all round family bonding. Mid-walk along a jagged beach my son turned to me:

"You stupid bum head!" he yelled at me and stomped his feed over the fallen log.
He was mad at me; I could tell. He didn't usually resort to name calling, but clearly I had crossed over some amorphous line.

"You're treating me like a girl.... and not like a REAL man!" he snapped.

Now he was getting to the root of things. "But Finn," I tried, "you are five years old and we're your parents. We have a right to not have our son unnecessarily dashed onto the rocks, just because he wants to walk across the fallen log, ten some feet about a pile of craggy rocks,” I tell him.

But he's having none of it. "But, I am a man." He insists.
We cajole his desire for manhood and settle on little young-man, one who still sits on his daddy's lap to have his teeth brushed.

Chloe scowled at him, from the other end of the log--where she'd just walked unaided; that would make her our eight-year-old young woman... but she didn't insist.

the saga continues
http://lorriemiller.wordpress.com/about/camp-tales/

I haven't told my son yet, but his favourite magazine in the whole world.. and i mean the entire world, really loved my article that I wrote about parenting a high velocity child,(from the Globe and mail) and now they want me to write something for them!!! So, I am.
Ahhhh. okay, there. Now... what do I write???

kidding. I have a book full.
L
http://lorriemiller.wordpress.com/

I am at my in-law's cabin. I sleep in the guest cabin out back... the love shack, we joke, except my hubby is in the city and I am here with two snoring children who have opted out of sleeping in their tent in exchange for curling up with mom. Okay and here I am roughin’ it... with my laptop, high-speed(ish) wireless connection on a bucolic northern gulf island (Canada).

Life is tough. I really didn't want to sleep, I wanted to have quiet and well, aside from the chirping of crickets, and my heavy breathing kids, it is pretty quiet. I can't even hear the ocean over the fan of my computer.

I love it here. Well, I love it in town too (if Vancouver can be called a town), and as quiet as my neighbourhood is, you really just can't beat the tranquility of the island--at least for little bits of time.

My two teens are in town with their dad, (that would be my husband--to avoid confusion). I'll go home Friday, and he'll come up here. He'll entertain the little ones and I'll feed and water the big ones in town. A quiet summer all around. School is happening soon enough... time to start thinking about it.

Our kids don't go back until the 8th of Sept. this year. I am so glad. It will give me a little time to get them organized, and properly shod. ( I hate shopping, but it's one of those necessary evils that I endure for my offspring).

Okay, now I am officially procrastinating... night all!
Luna

Today I have to write a card, a card of sympathy to a woman I know. I have been thinking about what to say for over a week. Before that I could hardly think about her situation without feeling my heart turn inside out. What can I say to a woman, a mother, a lovely spark of a mother who has lost both of her children and her neice in a cabin fire on the family's property. Words defy the gravity of her loss.

The memorial service was this past Monday. We were out of town with our own familial obligations. More than a thousand people attended with music, dance, words of memory, loss and celebration. I am sorry to have missed it, but not so sorry as to the fact that there was ever a need for such an event.

Even as I write this, I am at our own family cabin, with my children, neices and nephew around. Their voices are a constant joy for me. Their energy seems endless. But in reality it is. A tragic accident, an unforseen tragidy can change all that, as we, in our community, have been so cruelly taught.

In my home we have updated all our smoke detectors, as we have at the cabin; we have added new carbon-monoxide detectors, and we are adding sprinklers into the basement where the teen lounge and kids craft room are. But that may help in the long run, but at this moment, I need to think of what to say, what words to write in a single elegant card. I imagine her opening each envelope with trepidation, but I need to tell her that I am thinking of her.

She is a dear friend of my dear friend. We knew here 10 year old daughter, she was best friends with my daughter's best friend's older sister. We were friendly, but not close. But the knowldege of this family has struck home in a way I didn't expect.

I am sorry. I think of her and her loss, and the fact she has no other children, nor spouse to share in her grief. If any of you have any insight as to what I may say... I am at a loss.
L