it isn’t news to anyone that I’m not a talker. I’ve never been one to open my mouth and say what’s on my mind, unless it’s a topic that I’m not going to get any flack about & I’ve got a strong opinion on it … and I’m talking about it with my husband and/or a few close friends. other than that, you can expect me to keep my thoughts to myself.

but  I’ve always been able to write. I’ve always put pen to paper, or fingers to the keyboard, and smash out what I’m feeling or doing; telling either the world or simply my own eyes what I’m wanting or needing.

the past few weeks have left me with nothing to say, with nothing even written out. I haven’t been able to post even the little, somewhat impersonal weekly posts. I’ve thought about it numerous times, and have even opened up the page, staring and waiting for my fingers to do their work, to get something down for others to peer at, to see what I’m loving or reading or cooking this week. but I can’t even get myself to type. I can’t spend more than a few minutes looking at the blank space before I have to turn away, use something to distract me, and get away from it. as if, in writing anything at all, I will break apart.

today we received our wireless keyboard in the mail, along with the iPad smart cover that we ordered last week. no iPad yet, but it was supposed to take a few weeks, so we’re not complaining. the smart cover was even supposed to take much longer than a week, so I was excited to just see it sitting on the counter when I got home from a long day at school today.

maybe it’s coming from a desire to test out the new keyboard that I’m writing tonight. maybe it’s because I feel lonely and just want some kind of interaction. maybe it’s because I finally am breaking apart and there isn’t anyone here to share it with, so I’m heading to the outlet that I have gotten so accustomed to using over the past ten years.

instead of going out with everyone tonight to LIFE, I’m spending a much-needed night in. while I don’t really want to be alone, I know that I definitely don’t want to be around a huge group of people, stuck there until Joey is ready to come home.

and so I’ll do what has become so normal for me in the past few weeks: I’ll turn away, use something to distract me [most likely rainbow sherbet & a well-worn movie], and get away from it. as if, in writing anything at all, I will break apart.




Every Man {Thursdays to Think About :: Vol. 4}

Source of Strength

I did it.

I’ve been talking about it for weeks now, hoping that in the end, I would have the nerve.

Not that I’ve never cut my hair off before, because I certainly have. I seem to have a habit of growing my hair long and then cutting huge amounts of it off at once, never really sticking to a certain style.

This time I decided that I would actually do something with it. I had let my hair grow for well over a year in anticipation of doing something with it for my wedding day in August, and then figured I would continue growing it out until I was sure that I had enough to donate. I had never even considered donating my hair before, not because I thought it was weird, but just because I had never actually thought about it, although now I have no idea why I`ve never done it — especially given my penchant for cutting off all of my hair at one time.

I did it. There`s the proof, sitting alongside a Tide To Go pen so that you can gauge the size of that monstrous ponytail. It’s thirteen inches of ridiculously thick [as in, two inches in diameter at the top of the ponytail], never touched with chemicals [no dye, no  overuse of flat iron or product], ginger hair. My sister says that I’m inflicting a life of ginger-dom on some poor, unsuspecting child, but I think I’m okay with that.

I thought I would have to donate to Locks of Love, an American organization that provides wigs at a cost to anyone who needs them. They accept hair that has been coloured, as long as it hasn’t been bleached, and they accept anything longer than ten inches. This would have been fine to donate to, but then we found something even better.

Angel Hair for Kids is a program of A Child’s Voice Foundation, which provides wigs and hair loss solutions to financially disadvantaged children in Canada who have lost their hair due to a medical condition or treatment. It takes 10-12 donated ponytails to make one prosthesis, and this is then given to children. I really wanted my hair to go to a child who lost his or her hair, because I can’t even imagine what it would feel like to have no hair when the rest of your peers are having their hair braided, growing it long, cutting it short, making pigtails, and playing with it at sleepovers.

Angel Hair for Kids requires at least 12 inches in length, which was the only iffy part for me, because I wasn’t sure how much hair I would be able to cut off and still be able to have a bit left. Fortunately, I was able to cut off thirteen whole inches off of my head and still have enough for a sweet new ‘do.

I didn’t even pull a Samson either — I’m still as strong as ever.

Tuesdays Are For Lovers {Vol. 4}

Even with a crazy amount of work to do [i.e., I won’t be sleeping tonight], a little bit of television-watching helps to make things a little less silent and boring.



This post is part of a Tuesday series called “Tuesdays Are For Lovers,”
featuring things that I’m loving today, lately, or just in general!

A Change In Behaviour

This phrase came from a classroom management workshop put on by my Inclusion professor, a beautiful, intelligent, and truly caring woman that I am so thankful to have met. [Honestly — a friend & I were talking today about the fact that we would gladly pay extra to ensure that we were in her section.]

It was obviously used in the context of dealing with students, and that one is not capable of changing someone else’s behaviour, not by using any kind of power over the other. The only behaviour that one can change is one’s own, and hope that through it, others will be changed.

My professor used the example of a child who, when his teacher was trying to teach a lesson, would call out animal noises. So in the middle of class, there would be great moos coming from his corner of the classroom. At first, the teacher scolded the child, even putting him out of the classroom and away from everyone else. This didn’t exactly work, as the student would then just moo through the crack at the bottom of the door. Finally, with help from none other than my amazing professor [then acting as consultant] and her late husband, the teacher began to ignore his mooing and praise the students for their good behaviour, including the mooing student [if, of course, he was not mooing].

It was only after a few weeks of the teacher having changed her behaviour that the student saw no purpose in making animal noises to gain attention. Instead, he received positive attention from his teacher, which I’m sure was even more welcome to him than the negative attention.

Obviously this doesn’t stop in the classroom. It doesn’t matter how many times I ask my husband to rinse off his dishes, there is nothing that I can do to change this behaviour. If there is something wrong [from my perception anyway], I am the one that needs to change, not anyone else. It will be different for each person and each situation. It is not the same as reverse psychology. A change in you is a change in you, not a hope for change in someone else.


Oh, and by the way, he actually is getting quite good at rinsing off his dishes  : )


This post is part of a Thursday series called “Something to Think About,”
featuring peeks inside my index card obsession.

Tuesdays Are For Lovers {Vol. 3}

I love mail. Real, live mail from far-away friends. Especially when one has not seen said far-away friend since one’s summer wedding.

Especially cute little cards that are filled to the brim with words.This makes my heart so full.

Another thing that fills my heart is avocado. Anyone who knows me, is not surprised to hear me say that I often eat about half of an avocado each day.

Today I ate a full avocado. Half of it went right into a big bowl of brown rice [with added hot sauce, of course]. This is my new favourite way to eat rice. Just in case you were wondering.

Try Something New.

I’m not really much of a risk-taker. I normally stick to myself and what I know works. [Unless we’re talking about food. I’ll try just about anything, as long as no onions are involved.]

Among others, Heather has been instrumental in showing me that it’s possible to step out of my little box and just try. It doesn’t matter if things don’t quite work out [something I have a huge problem with  — I have a mega fear of failure, or Atypchiphobia]. It doesn’t matter if others think that I’m ridiculous for doing it.

It could be something silly, something that I might do for others, or to be selfish for a moment, something that I might do just to make myself happy. Because honestly, as much as I’m called to think of others first, if I don’t take care of myself, how could I possibly be any good to anyone else?


This post is part of a Thursday series called “Something to Think About,”
featuring peeks inside my index card obsession.