A Miracle called Lisa

A team of doctors at Thames Valley Children's Center have been a part of the life of Lisa since she was still protected lovingly inside of me. At that time, I was afraid for her to be born. The answers to her medical mysteries would come to life the minute she took her first breath. And even with all of the ultrasounds, the mounds of information about Spina Bifida and Hydrocephalus, and the weekly reports from the doctors, there was still a small part of me that clung onto a thread of hope that everyone was wrong. The swelling of the ventricles in her brain could have been misread on the ultrasound screen, as well as the lesion on her back where the spine had failed to close around the spinal cord.

The miracle of a medical misdiagnosis was not in our plan, however. Lisa was born on a cold winter night, surrounded by a medical staff prepared to welcome her, nurture her, and do whatever was necessary to heal her. With that last bit of hope that I had hung onto, now evidently gone, I vowed that I would do everything in my power to give Lisa the life that she deserved. The optimism of the medical team was contagious, and it was difficult not to share their enthusiasm for my beautiful baby. I have a picture of Lisa sleeping peacefully in her hospital isolette, her back wrapped in protective gauze, a full head of black hair and her chubby cheek resting softly on the blanket. Her one arm is bent at the elbow, her tiny fist laying by her mouth. But it is not the image of the sleeping baby that makes me love this picture so much. Looking closely at her curled up hand, she has one finger laying out straight on the blanket...yes "the middle finger". Even as a baby, she was ready to take on the world. She was ready to prove that she would be a fighter.

The twelve years following the birth of Lisa have been a mix of typical baby and little girl experiences, and spina bifida/hydrocephalus learning and enduring experiences. In the first year alone, there were four surgeries and weeks of hospital stays that added up to months. The medical language of hospitals and doctors became a fluent part of my vocabulary. Rounds of therapy and clinic visits became a part of ordinary life for our family. As she grew and her world expanded beyond her home and into school, my job as advocate and educator of the new people in her life became a primary focus. I wanted Lisa to achieve all that was possible for her; I didn't want her to ever settle for anything less than what she was capable of. There have been some setbacks over the years, as she had to undergo two more surgeries when she was seven. There were complications resulting in a loss of memory, a loss of previously gained capabilities. But, as with anything new in anyone's life, we adapt. We make changes to accommodate our shortcomings, and enhance our strengths.

As Lisa enters the pre-teen phase of her life, my worries as a mother have shifted from the physical concerns that she has to deal with, to the social and emotional drama that comes with most young teenagers, but are intensified when there is a disability that accompanies the changes of puberty. Because of the nerve damage to her spinal cord, Lisa has no bowel or bladder control. She is not able to feel any sensation of emptying either one. She wears a diaper. She catheterizes herself five times a day to ensure that her bladder is empty, and to prevent infections. Asking her to go to the washroom and try to eliminate is like asking a person in a wheelchair to get up and walk. Surprisingly, this has not been an emotional issue for Lisa yet. Her washroom routine is accepted as normal for her, and she will openly discuss it with anyone who asks. I, however, am dreading the day (which I know is coming soon), when she will fully comprehend her differences, when she will hate the diaper.

This past Tuesday, Lisa had an appointment at the Children's Hospital to have a renal ultrasound performed which shows the bladder and the kidneys. Following the test, she had an appointment with her urologist who, in the past, usually discusses the results of the test, asks questions about her general health, and then sends us home with a follow up appointment for next year. I had no idea that this year's appointment would be different. I had no idea that this year's appointment would allow Lisa to dream the possibility of living a diaper-free normal life. For the past year, Lisa has been taking a daily dose of medicine that helps to control the leakage of urine from her bladder in between her catheterization times. Taken regularly, it works miraculously well. If her only concern was her bladder, she would already be able to throw out the diapers. The biggest stumbling block, however, has always been her bowels. Unpleasant a topic as it is, this is a daily concern for Lisa. It is not something that she can ever be modest about.

After reviewing the dosage of her bladder medication, and asking for Lisa's input about how she thought it was working, the doctor then turned to me and very calmly stated that we needed to focus on achieving bowel continence, in other words, no more messy accidents. I looked at him in disbelief, at first thinking that I had misunderstood him. He went on to explain that Lisa was a candidate for a procedure that has been performed quite regularly on people with bowel dysfunction. Especially considering that she would soon be a teenager, he thought the timing was right to at least think about the benefits for her. As he continued to explain the procedure- known as MACE- my mind was racing with questions and concerns. I was afraid to believe that this hope even existed. Simply explained, Lisa's appendix would be used as a natural tubing that then becomes surgically implanted at the top of the colon creating a valve. There would be a small opening on her abdomen that would give her access to the "appendix tube". She would then insert a catheter containing an enema solution into the opening. This would effectively clean out her bowels. She would have to repeat this process every 3-5 days, but would have little to no soiling in between. I am still trying to comprehend the enormous difference that such an unbelievable surgery would have on Lisa's life. Once again my perfectionism has kicked into overdrive and I am searching for all kinds of information about MACE- both negative and positive outcomes. Surgery always means some risks. Not every person with bowel dysfunction benefits. Is it painful? Is there risk of infection? I want to see pictures. I want to talk to other parents. How could that doctor look so calm when he literally changed my daughter's life with his simple suggestion?

Throughout the whole discussion, Lisa sat on the table, eyes growing wider with each vivid description of the surgery. I snapped back into the presence of the moment when I saw the fear growing in her. I knew what kind of an impact a successful MACE surgery would have on her life, but I needed to remember that she was growing up. She needed to become an active participant in her health care, and what she wanted to do with her body. The doctor must have sensed Lisa's unease as well, because he turned to her and simply asked her "Wouldn't you like it if you didn't have to wear diapers anymore?" She smiled and nodded her head. That few seconds that the doctor took to include Lisa, to remember that she was more than just another surgery, reassured me and made me very grateful to him for his humanness.

We are at the very beginning stages of this next journey in Lisa's life, with many questions, more research, and clinic visits to look forward to. But, the miracle of the possibility for her is worth every second of this journey. Lisa looked at me with a big smile on her face when we were driving home on Tuesday. She spoke one sentence that would mean nothing to me coming from my other two kids, but is something that I never thought she would ever say to me. "Mom, I have to buy some new underwear."

Why do I Run?

When thinking about the answer to my question- why do I run?- I'm not sure if I am referring to the physical act of running, which is something that I have recently been torturing my body with, or if it refers to the mental running that my mind and my heart has also been tortured with over the past four years. Both forms of running began with the same purpose in mind- to provide an escape from the current stress of my life, an outlet for my over-active thinking. The end result has been the same as well- the renewed sense of calm, the return of an inner motivation to move forward in my life. It's everything that happens between the beginning and the end that shows the true difference between the physical and the mental.

Two months ago, I would have laughed at the person who told me that I was going to add running to my repertoire of extra curricular activities. It had never appealed to me, and seemed to lack a purpose. Was I running to get somewhere? No. Was I running away from someone or some dangerous animal? No. Was I running to catch someone? No. Like I said, no purpose. And then, just as dramatically as I emphasized that I didn't like to run, my mind completely reversed and suddenly, wanted to run. It literally happened over night. It reminded me of how unexpectedly inspirational the idea for my blog started. I tend to be a very reactive person. When I am passionate about an idea, an activity, or a person, I consume myself with wanting to learn and do all I can, trying to soak up all the energy and use it to create something wonderfully positive in my life. And that is how I felt the day I started to run.

If I think more deeply about my desire to run, there were signs that were trying to force their way into my awareness. My son loves to run. He competes in Cross Country every year with his school team, and qualified to run at the provincial level last year for his age category. Part of me realized that this could be one more way of connecting with him. It would give us something to talk about, and eventually he might even like to join me on a run- ok, let's be honest, I would be desperately attempting to keep up to his slow jog. There were other signs too- the lack of cardio during the summer months of dancing hiatus; the sluggish, heavy feeling of inactivity; the sudden appearance of people in my life whose exhilaration for physical activity was contagious; the desire to move, to feel that heart pounding, lung gasping, face burning sensation of being healthy and alive. It all sounds very inspirational. It seemed easy enough to lace up my running shoes, hook up my iPod, and take off running down the nature trail. From the door of my house, to the start of the trail, and then looped back again is approximately 5km. That first night, the running gradually turned to a jog, and then to a walk, back to a jog, walk, can't run anymore, walk, jog...I guess I was going to require some more training. When I arrived back at the front steps leading into my house, every muscle in my legs loudly protested the climbing of those steps. If there had been a soft pillow and a warm blanket on my front lawn, I would have gladly laid my weary body down upon it for the night.

Six weeks into the running, and I am hooked. I have built my endurance up to a steady jog of 6 km each time I run, which is usually 4 to 5 times each week. My son has joined me, and has intensified the workout with some sprint drills. I think he must forget that he is actually running with his mother. I remind myself though that each desperate gasp of air, and each burn of muscle in my legs, is worth the time I am sharing with my son. It's worth the decluttered feeling in my brain at the end of the run. It's worth the addition of one more piece of my life that is just for me.

The running of my mind and my heart is a journey that I will have to share in another post. It has required much more training, and I'm not sure that I will ever arrive at the doorstep at the end of that run. Maybe a part of me doesn't want to arrive either, maybe the run is what keeps me invigoratingly alive.

A New Language

Yesterday I became one step closer to becoming fluent in a second language. It is the language of "Mobilish". This language is not confined to one specific geographic area. It is not a romance language, nor one of the ancient historic languages. In fact, it is quite modern. The origin of the word "Mobilish" comes from the combination of the word "mobile" as in mobile phone, and the word "gibberish" which is what I think comes out of the mouths of the mobile phone representatives.

The most current lesson in "Mobilish" occurred as the result of my older daughter dropping her cell phone in the toilet on the weekend. In brief, the chaotic state of her bathroom, too many electric/electronic appliances cluttering up the counter top, trying to straighten her hair, applying make-up, sending text messages, and scrolling through her Ipod all at the same time somehow led to her cell phone flying into the bowl of water that no girl wants to stick her hand into. Once fished out of the toilet, she attempted to fix the situation. She seemed to recall that the all-knowing "they" say that when a cell phone gets wet, set it in a bowl of dry rice and it will miraculously soak up the moisture. Honestly, I think this is an urban myth. Next attempt was to get out the blow dryer. Unsuccessful as well. Finally, call mom and cause that dreaded moment of panic when the first words out of her mouth were "Mom, I've had a bit of an accident." It's amazing how many horrific images can flash through a parent's mind in the span of a few seconds with that one brief sentence. Once given the details of her accident, the relief quickly changed to disbelief that she would scare me like that, and then finally to humour as I laughed out loud (lol in "Mobilish") at her predicament. Apparently the withdrawal of her cell phone addiction had already begun, as she didn't appreciate the laughter.

How did we get to this point? How did my usually sensible teenage daughter transform into a babbling fool thinking I could produce a new cell phone for her on a Saturday night within the hour before she was to meet her friends?

It was a gradual progression, moving from Core Mobilish 101 to full Mobilish Immersion. A few years ago, I was quite content to have my "for emergency purposes only" cell phone tucked away at the bottom of my purse- usually turned off, or drained of its battery. It didn't bother me at all that I wasn't immediately accessible to every person in my life who felt the need to tug me in yet another direction of responsibility. The seed of change was planted, however, the year that the above mentioned teenage daughter set foot inside the walls of secondary school. I was adamant that I was not going to fall for the teenage parent peer pressure, that overwhelming need we have to want our kids to fit in. Timing, however, was everything. This was the year that my husband and I separated, which meant the kids were with him for one week and with me for one week. My daughter also expanded her circle of friends, and started her first job. With her sudden increase in mobility, she was sometimes difficult to track down. The obvious solution was to give in to the peer pressure and buy her a phone, which also meant that I would actually have to learn how to use mine if I wanted the communication to be two-way.

Our first in-depth lesson into the world of Mobilish seemed simple enough at first. She would use a "pay-as-you-go" phone. There were only a few options for her to choose from, and then it was her responsibility to buy minutes each month. Things became a bit more complicated when my phone was thrown into the lesson. I had to be taken off of my husband's plan, set up with a new phone, change carriers, pick a new plan, decide on the features that I wanted to use, and then commit to a three-year contract. Were we really talking about cell phones, or were they secretly trying to remortgage my house? When I walked out of that store, I had a phone that I barely knew how to turn on, did not know how to retrieve or send messages, and I had no idea what this "plan" or "contract" was that I had signed my name to. It was a slow learning curve for me as I pushed buttons, scrolled through menu options, picked ring tones (one for phone calls, one for text messages that were sent, one for text messages received, one for voice mail messages), attempted to send a very long, very slow text message, set the clock in the correct time zone, set the alarm, look at the calendar that I had no idea how to input information into...all I really wanted to be able to do was make a phone call.

For the next year, I slowly moved into the more advanced class of Mobilish as I learned how to text. It's strange how the word "text" is now a well-known verb, instead of referring to words on a page of writing. It's also unusual how the improper "texted" and "texting" became frequently used and then accepted as correct forms of the word "text". I still find myself struggling with the acronyms of Mobilish text messages- brb, btw, lol, lmao, 2gtbt, asap, g2g, bff, and soooo many more. There are entire web sites dedicated to the world of texting.

As my own world expanded beyond the life of my family, I began to feel my own sense of addiction to my cell phone. So much so, that I decided to fast track my learning to the iPhone! I was ready.

No, I wasn't ready. Unlmited text plan, voice minutes, My5, My10, data plans, 16GB, email access, iPod with access to itunes, the Apps store, weather, stocks, sync with my laptop, games, games, games... What was I thinking? Months later, and I still don't know how to send an email from this efficient, easy-to-use device. It's funny how my oldest daughter and her friends think I'm such a cool mom to have such a cool phone. I'm waiting for the day they ask me to show them how all of the applications work. I know I will probably slip back into Intro to Mobilish 101 class again.

Throughout the process of modernizing mom, my oldest daughter had long since outgrown the use of the "pay-as-you-go". She had graduated to her own, much more efficient slide phone, as well as her own "student plan". Why does the bill for her plan get mailed in the same envelope with my statement? Why is the total amount owing on my statement the total of my bill and hers? Great plan, if you are a student living at home. We go through a Mobilish lesson each month as I lay out the statement for her and patiently explain that the $25 low monthly fee for her own phone does not include unlimited texting, downloading of anything, long distance, system access fee (what exactly is that anyway), instant messaging through her msn, roaming charges, or her taxes. It's funny how that base fee becomes doubled very quickly.

Thus, we have arrived at the moment of withdrawal, after pulling the cause of the addiction out of the toilet that I would have liked to flush the phone down (along with any contracts attached to that phone). I let her suffer for a few days, but in the end, it was frustrating for me in not being able to reach her when I wanted. As we had guessed, her phone was not salvageable. The picking out of the phones begins.

Mom: No you don't need a Blackberry. You can have a Blackberry after you have graduated from university, work in a high profile corporate job, and show a need for owning a Blackberry

Daughter: I won't use it for data. I like the keyboard. It will be so much easier for texting.

Helpful Sales Rep: We do have some Blackberry Pearls that she is eligible for with her phone upgrade, and she doesn't have to have the data pack.

Mom: (glaring at the helpful sales rep, but trying to keep an open mind) How much is it? Are there other options?

Son: (who also decided to tag along to scope out phone options that he might like to have) Mom, let her get the Blackberry, then I can get this cool pay-as-you-go that kind of looks like a Blackberry.

What was our solution? Over an hour later, we left the store with one Blackberry Pearl with the no data option, a handful of literature re-explaining my plan, my daughter's plan, and the new pay-as-you-go plans for my son. Obviously, I'm not at the level of Mobilish fluency that I thought I was. And at this point, I don't think I ever want to be either.

The Women of My Life

Today is my birthday. Unlike many women I know, I don't fear this day, or dread the dawning of it in any way. Being a true Leo, I love the attention that a birthday brings- the calls, the email messages, the flowers, the cards, the gifts, the pedicure, the dining out. Bring it on! Although this sounds quite brave, I do have enough of the great lion in me to also resent the signs of aging that are becoming increasingly more obvious with the passing of each year. Why is it that in my heart and in my mind I still feel like I am 25, but the calendar and the mirror remind me that I am 43? If I could only combine the energy and perkiness of a 20-something body with the experience and wisdom of my 40-something mind. What a marketing concept that would be in this day of wrinkle-reducing, fat-burning, calorie-counting, youth obsessed culture.

Apart from the obvious glow of the birthday celebration, one of the most important reasons why I welcome this day each year, is the coming together of the people in my life. My children and other members of my family are given little choice in remembering my day with my subtle and not so subtle reminders of the big event. Really, how could they miss the calendar posted on the fridge (that they frequent at least a dozen times a day) with August 14th highlighted and then written in big bold letters "MOM'S BIRTHDAY!!!" They patiently play the game of building up the suspense of my gifts, planning some surprises, and then embarrass me in front of a crowd of strangers at Boston Pizza with the singing and clapping, and the eating of the 10,000 calorie gigantic hot fudge brownie dessert, smothered in vanilla ice cream, dripping with caramel sauce.

I love my family dearly for the attention of the day. But, today's post is going to be devoted to another group of "sisters" who not only remind me on my birthday of their unconditional love for me, but at so many other times throughout our almost thirty year friendship.

We formed our bond in our high school years, initially because no one seemed to really understand our sense of humour, or our desire to live up to the words of Cyndi Lauper's hit song of the time "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun". The groundwork was laid for the coming together of the seven women of my life on a typical rural Ontario night of fun. There were no hip bars, fancy nightclubs, or big band concerts to attend where we came from. We were deep in the heart of redneck country where fun meant a party of your closest three hundred friends, a huge bonfire, broken styrofoam coolers, tight jeans, plaid shirts, loud music with speakers the size of a house pillar mounted on a barn bank, peeing in the field with an animal of some kind usually staring back, and the careless sense of teenage invincibility everywhere you looked. It was at the end of one such night- our first night together as a group- that the "Silly Seven" were christened, and would proudly be called by their new name for the next thirty years. We were leaving the party, heading towards the big red Cougar (and I'm not referring to today's popular meaning of the word "cougar"; it was actually a car!). I don't know if it was the scent of our female fun or the sound of our high pitched giggling, but whatever the reason, when the farmer's two Dobermans were inadvertently released from their pens, they ran straight to our group of seven teenage girls. Panic followed, with background yelling from the crowd, and the very loud, angry barking of the dogs. Disbelief soon turned to fear, as those menacing jaws came directly towards us. The scene unfolded: seven girls screaming; seven girls running; seven girls climbing on top of the hood of the car just as one dog grabbed a hold of the pant leg of the last girl to climb up, thankfully tearing only cloth and not skin; seven girls hugging and crying as close to the middle of the hood of the car as they could get, with the dogs furiously growling and leaping upward to get at their prey. The car was locked. This was years before the time of the automatic door unlock on today's key fobs. Desperate to get inside the safety of the car, the girl who was driving laid down on the roof, reaching over with the key, trying to insert it into the lock as we tried to distract the dogs. No luck. You may be wondering what the rest of the two hundred and ninety three of our friends were doing while we were imprisoned on the hood of a car by two dogs. Apparently, we were putting on quite a show. After what seemed like an eternity, the crowd lost interest, the owner called off the dogs, and we were able to scramble for cover inside the Cougar. The hysterics of the past few moments screamed loudly inside the vehicle as we all tried to outdo the other with our story of fear. Our driver wanted to make a quick escape. I'm sure we were a distraction to her. I'm sure she was feeling the effects of the scare. I'm sure that is why we ended up spinning out of control at the end of the laneway and landed in the ditch on the other side of the road. Oh what a night!

The memories of our teenage years makes me fear for the safety of my own teenage children every time I see them walk out the door for a weekend of fun. If they only knew what lay in the memory bank of their mother.

After high school graduation, we all ventured off in different directions- university, college, work force. But we always kept in touch. We didn't want to lose that connection that had taken hold, a connection that had seen us forsake the rule of our parents and the time spent with boyfriends; a connection that had us craving the fun and the familiarity of each other; a connection that few people are ever lucky enough to find. Our bond grew as we lived through the joy of weddings and the births of our children (20 babies between the seven of us). It grew stronger still as we lived through the heartbreak of losing some of our parents, dealing with the struggles of our children, the difficulties of our most precious relationships. I have felt joy with these women, as we share old memories and create new ones, laughing til my stomach aches and tears are running down my face. I have felt their sorrows, seen each one of them cry, held each one of them in an embrace of friendship.

Yesterday we enjoyed the celebration of two of the August birthdays in our group. It began as a very adult get together as we all try to remember that we are now in our 40's. We were dressed in our summer favourites, sipping cool drinks on a patio at one of our favourite Italian restaurants. The facade slowly faded as the afternoon wore on and we slipped into our familiar comfort zone of Silly Seven humour. Moving the party to the private backyard pool of one of our group uncovered even more of the teenage spirit that we still hold on to. Drifting lazily on the inner tube, I slowly opened my eyes when I heard the counting. 1, 2, 3, Bomb Her!!! Attacked from both sides, I didn't have a chance and gave in easily to the sinking of my body under the water. I resurfaced from underneath the tube, giggling with the fun of the moment.

Today's posting is dedicated to these women of my life. I love each one of you. And I can't wait to bomb your inner tube when we turn 80.

Something to Think About

"At midnight tonight, you'll get a most amazing gift: a fresh set of 24 hours. These hours are pure and flawless and limitless. They offer you the opportunity to show courage, behave brilliantly, connect compassionately, and forge those new habits of mastery that will get you to a better place of being. And they offer you a space to laugh. To create value. And to do your dreams. Whether you'll admit it or not, tomorrow is incredible. Not everyone gets one." Robin Sharma from his book "The Greatness Guide Book 2"

I wanted to share this quote, and the power of the message that can be drawn from it. It's more than just about living each moment of each day. It's about giving ourselves permission to learn and grow, to forgive ourselves for our mistakes, to imagine, to feel.

"Out with the Negative, In with the Positive"

Today's posting was inspired by a response I received from one of my "Chocolate of Women" followers. It seems like such a simple thought, but when reflected upon, it can have a sweeping impact on our lives. I am a big believer in the power of positive thinking. I have read "The Secret", which in turn led me to read other works detailing the power of the law of attraction. Admittedly, at first I was quite skeptical about the validity of such an immeasurable law. Could I not just interpret the events in my life in a way that made it seem that I had drawn them into my reality? How could anyone prove that my thinking, my unconscious thoughts, my words, and my actions were actually creating the situations that I happened to find myself in? Then, I stopped thinking about it, stopped trying to analyse this theory so much. Instead, in my day to day life, I tried to focus on what I needed to do during that day to make me a positive person, to make my day an experience that gave me a sense of peace and contentment.

I don't want to give the false impression that each one of my days is filled with the "Brady Bunch" false positive that still makes me cringe when I think of how perfect that tv family was. What I have discovered, however, is that I have become more aware of what I am thinking and doing, which gives me a stronger feeling of being in control of what I want to do in my day. If my kids are driving me crazy with their arguing and bickering, if the ringing of the phone seems never-ending, if the constant game of catch up with my to-do list seems like a losing battle, I now look those struggles in the face and realize that I need to somehow give myself a moment of "positive".

How do I do that? One of the most powerful tools that I rely on, is to stop the moment, completely remove myself from it if I have to. Then, I sit and remember. I think about many of the small things that people have done for me that have had an unforgettable impact on me...someone who has gone out of their way to make sure I am okay. That feeling of belonging, of compassion and caring, can't be bought. It can't be disguised with big, expensive gifts. It can, however, be felt years later. It can be remembered at just the right moment.

I am very lucky to have so many people in my life who have provided me with a multitude of "selfless act" memories. As I am writing this, remembering the details of some of these recollections, I feel the positive, the peace of my life, how grateful I am. Following are only a few examples of "small things with big impacts" on my life.

* A close friend who stopped in at my house with a coffee and a vanilla berry yogurt from Tim Horton's. The timing was perfect. I was on no-weight bearing recovery from foot surgery after months of no healing, months of depending on everyone around me to do everything, months of inactivity, months of slowly losing my mind.

* My sister-in-law who called me every single day following the diagnosis of my unborn baby with spina bifida. I was so lost in my grief and anguish for my baby, so overwhelmed by the heaps of information and by the medical professionals who became intertwined in our life, that I could barely focus on what a normal life was. She called every day to ask me how I was, to check on my other children, to let me know that she cared.

* A card in the mail during a winter of torment, a season of never seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. It read "It's always broccoli just before the pie. Hope things are pie soon." This came from a dear friend who always seems to know.

* A framed photo of my grandpa surrounded by his great grandchildren. This was a gift on Mother's Day from my oldest daughter. Three days later my grandpa passed away.

* The friend who changed her plans for the day the minute she received the tearful phone call from me. She arrived bearing Italian food, and a shoulder to cry on.

* The scrap piece of paper, folded haphazardly by my youngest daughter when she was five years old. "Dear Mom, I love you! You are great!"

* The man who gave me a sprig of rosemary from his garden, to carry with me on my journey home, knowing the scent filling my car would remind me of him.

These are the moments that I remember, and so many more. It is these kind acts of human nature that give me my moment of "positive". They help me to see the kind of person that I want to be.

The Pictures of Our Life

I was scrolling through my weekend pictures tonight, adding to my "Summer '09" photo file. Usually, the whole cropping, resizing, editing of the photos process is a task that I don't look forward to. I get so caught up in the work, that I rarely even look at the photos. Why is that? The reason I drag my camera along, forcing my family and friends to pose for pictures that they don't even want to be in, is to capture those Kodak moments and save them forever on a computer disk, in a box, tucked away in a cabinet. Seriously though, I am the fellow traveler that everyone eventually becomes quite annoyed with as I love to take pictures, and I love to be in pictures. If you are one of the chosen few who have actually been fortunate to have been on a vacation with me, or even just out for the night with me, you know that I am the first one to whip out the camera. I am also the tourist posing in my own pictures as I pull the nearest person to me in tight for my "self-taken" photo shots. It's amazing how many of these have turned out to be some of my best pictures.

Tonight though, I actually took the time to look at the pictures- not just from this past weekend, but from the beginning of the summer until now. The details of each event, complete with the feeling of belonging and friendship, grew stronger in my mind with each picture. I know that when I am having a bad day, or when I am feeling overwhelmed with whatever happens to be the stress of the moment, it is easy to forget those photos. Why do we let ourselves be consumed with the negative? I can't remember the last time that I took a picture of my kids arguing, or me with a headache, or any of the other multitude of sad, mad, bad events that are happening in our lives. If we don't want to pull these events out of our picture file on our computer, then why do we want to pull them out of our memory bank and relive them?

I look at my summer pictures and I want to remember my daughter hugging a new friend at the Canada Day concert. I want to remember the feeling of the sun on my skin lying on the dock at the cottage. I want to remember the pride of my son as he succeeded in water skiing on one ski. I want to remember the feeling of family as we gathered for a barbeque in my parent's backyard on a hot summer Sunday. I want to remember how the beauty of Tremblant took my breath away.

As cliche as it may sound, its time to stop and smell the roses. Or in this case, its time to really look at your pictures. It's time to revisit the moments in your life that make it all worthwhile.