44 Forty-Four 44
Author: jill
•2:25 PM
The final count is forty-four ... 44 ... four, four ... forty + four ...

I was talking to my Aunt at a holiday gathering of family, and I told her that the final count  came to only forty-four books read in one year. And, I felt bad about it. But as I listened to the words leave my mouth, I realized that I shouldn't feel bad. I have nothing to feel bad about.

I read forty-four (mostly) really good books this past year ...

And, I was going to ask you how many books you read ... but to be honest, I don't care. The number of books you read does not have anything to do with the number of books I read. The number of books you read has no consequence on the number I read, and neither of us are defined by the number of books that we read in one year. I guess I, sort of, felt as though I had failed at my challenge because I did not read 100 books in one year. But, remember what I said?

"Okay, even as I am typing this challenge, I know it is ridiculous. It is unrealistic but I need to make it a challenge. If I say that I am going to read one hundred books ... that is not a challenge. Anyone could say that. The challenge will keep me motivated."

And, the challenge did keep me motivated ...

And one final thought on number of books read ... I have read several short stories for my English courses over the last semester. Books are great, but I have come to appreciate short stories in a new way these last few months. I will be writing about it soon, because there are some short stories that are a reader's dream to interpret. Stephen King has a new book of short stories out that I am dying to get my hands on ... as does Joyce Carol Oates. Look for those to be consumed (by me) in 2011.

I may have grown as a person because of what I read. I certainly learned new things, and became familiar with writers I had never read before. I did exercise my brain, which was my original intent. And, most of all, I think this little challenge lead me to return to school. Because as fun as it was to read and blog, I quickly realized that it was not enough for me. I wanted to learn more about literature, and the craft of creative writing.

I bet you want to know if I had a favourite book ...

That is a hard question to answer ... I especially LOVED A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving. I mean, you cannot meet Owen Meany and remain unchanged. I was pleasantly surprised by Ruth Reichl's Comfort Me With Apples, and I was fascinated by the role of the Jewish woman (in both her family and in her community) in Kaaterskill Falls by Allegra Goodman. I learned SO much from Randy Shilts in And the Band Played On; and, Alice Kuipers taught me that a really moving story can be told using very few words at all, in Life on a Refrigerator Door. And, I was both mesmerized and outraged by what I learned about the food industry. But those are just a few of many really great books that come to mind immediately. I honestly enjoyed most of what I read this year, but I also appreciated reading the ones the weren't really my favourites. Because I strongly believe that to understand what you really like, sometimes you have to explore the things you don't.

In very general terms, I find fiction is read faster than non-fiction. A fictional story often draws one in, and the reader is anxious to find out what happens ... will the protagonist reach their goal, get caught, realize their mistake, live, find their true love ... Non-fiction is often more dense, and cannot be read quickly while stirring a pot of chili with three crazy children running around - 'cause you cannot lose yourself in the story world. For instance, the difference in reading Fast Food Nation and Presumed Innocent was huge. Both really, really great books ... but read very differently. For me, anyhow.

And so, there it is. One year of reading and blogging ... done. Well, not all the blogging is done but I am working on it. There should be posts going up regularly until the Winter Semester begins .....

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Into the Future
Author: jill
•10:23 AM
Tonight, I had a glimpse. You know, a glimpse of what the future might be like. A glimpse of that feeling a mother gets when her child accomplishes something (really wonderful) all by themselves.

Don't get me wrong, I have experienced it ... but in a limited sort of way. Like, the time Marnie learned a new song school. A song that I did not know ... in French. And, as she sang it to Jonesy and I, we exchanged one of those "how-does-she-know-this?" looks. Or, today, when Caiden explained to me that people who have strokes often suffer from a "droop" on one side of their mouths ...

"Caiden, that is exactly what happens," I said. "How do you know that?" I am expecting him to say that he heard Nana talk about it, or he read about it on Wikipedia.

"I saw it on Family Guy," he explained. Ugh.

Okay, so maybe that was not a moment of parental pride.

But you know what I am talking about ... it's that feeling you get inside when your child does something all by him/herself.

The other night, we had a Big Boy movie night with Caiden while Marnie had a "vacation (from Addie)" at Nana's house. We watched The Karate Kid, starring Jaden Smith. It is so sweet, with a great message. In fact, I am no longer "allowed" to say that Jaden (or the female (adolescent) lead) is adorable; but between you and me, I wanted to hug and kiss them a whole bunch.

Essentially, it is the same story as the original, starring Ralph Macchio and Mr. Miyagi, but different and updated. Dre Parker (Jaden Smith) moves from Detroit, Michigan to China, with his mother. He is out of his element and finds himself being bullied by some local boys. The (apartment) building maintenance man (Jackie Chan) decides to teach Dre about the art of authentic kung fu. Jackie is sweet and patient and emotional ... as he teaches Dre the one thing that he has an appreciation for. Jaden Smith is adorable and cool and so likeable - but remember, I am not allowed to say that!

As he reached (inevitable) success, I could only think that one day, I would be watching as my children did the same. Maybe not in a kung fu tournament (please, not in a kung fu tournament), but success none the less. And the emotion that filled me as I watched this fictional character would only pale in comparison to the emotion I would feel when it is my own child, right?

It is some kind of weird mixture of pride and arrogance and self-satisfaction and separation. Because it is amazing when they learn something that you did not teach them, isn't it? I mean, how could they learn something if I did not teach it to them? I think this is part of my problem ... this strange idea that only I can teach them the things they need to know ...

You're beginning to feel sorry for my kids, aren't you?

I want all these things for my kids ... the independance, the knowledge, the "finding who they are." But I don't want to miss one second of it ... I really don't. I would feel like I was missing out on something absolutely incredible ... I would feel like I was missing out on them.

Maybe because I am looking to learn something about myself at the same time.

But I guess they must find their own way, and I have to find mine.

But what if we go in completely different directions?

This is the fear that I live with ... because then, I will be alone.

So, for now, I am going to enjoy teaching them the things I know because one day soon, they will be teaching me things they know. And, the things they can do.





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We Grew up in That Water
Author: jill
•4:09 PM
On June 19th, he would have been thirty-eight years old. He would be a man now. And on the day that he would have turned thirty-eight years old, I stood in the same lake that took him from us for the first time in the twenty-one years that he has been gone.

On June 11, 1989, at about 7:50am, there was a knock at the door. I can assure you that if you get an unexpected knock on the door early in the morning, it cannot be good news. I was faced with a police officer, who told my father and I that my brother was missing, and presumed drowned. My mother was hosting a class reunion and had spent the night at a local hotel with her nursing classmates. It would be another hour before she would know her son was gone. Which was okay because obviously, there had been some kind of mistake. Your brain is an amazing organ because its main function is to protect you from the things that you are unable to deal with; and in this case, my brain told me that there must have been some kind of mistake ... because my brother was both an outdoorsman and an excellent swimmer. I found out later that my Mom's brain was working in the same manner as mine because when they arrived at the beach, she made my Dad search through all the long weeds along the shore. She was sure that he had reached the beach but was too exhausted to call out for help. Yes, your brain works hard to protect you.

However, there had not been a mistake, and we were eventually forced to face the reality that he was gone. For each member of my family, our lives changed in that instant.

The beach that my brother had spent his last hours of life was the same beach that we had grown up on. In a previous post I mentioned that my parents owned a cottage just outside Rondeau Provincial Park on Lake Erie. We grew up in that water ... we swam at dusk in that water, we had contests to see who could hold their breath the longest in that water, my Uncle gave us 100-pounders in that water, we swam in rain storms in that water, we had races out to the sand bar in that water, and we swam when that water was so rough that we could body surf the waves, pretending we were real surfers like the ones in California. And it was fun ... in fact, perhaps it was a time when I was actually carefree. We grew up in that water. So, you see, it seems impossible to believe that same water could hurt us. Consequently, as I stood there more than twenty years later, watching that same water wash over my feet as my own children played and splashed one another, I tried not to imagine the day that same water had spit him out onto the shore for some poor young mother to happen across on a walk with her little boy, almost two weeks after he had gone missing. 

His canoe capsized after they had paddled out too far in the lake. The police later told us that his friend reported they could no longer see the shore, and decided that they should turn the canoe around. This was a fatal error. His friend made it to shore; my brother did not.

And so, I have not been back there since his death ... to the same Rondeau Park that had brought me such great times as a child. In fact, while my parents visited that beach every day until he was found - waiting for news from the police search and rescue-turned-recover  team - I could never make myself go, except for their last day of searching. I arrived in time for them to call the search off.

About a month ago, my parents announced they had reserved a campsite at Rondeau Provincial Park and they wanted my family to join them for Father's Day weekend. I am not an avid camper ... I am more of a "shower-every-day, avoid-the-humidity-at-all-costs" kind of girl who can appreciate a fun campfire. However, if I push all my aversion to camping aside, it was really the idea of visiting that place again. That place that had taken by little brother away. It might seem strange but consider your feelings if you had to visit the exact hospital room where a loved one had died ... how would you feel? Overwhelmed? Sad? Perhaps, relief that suffering was over? Whatever the emotion, you cannot hide ... I was no longer able to avoid thinking about that force of nature that swooped down and took away a life. A life that was very important to me.

But, a strange thing happened. I felt relaxed at Rondeau Provincial Park. I felt reassured and comfortable; everything was familiar. The big dock ... still had lots of fisherman on it. The little grocery store where you could get an ice cream cone is still there ... it's been fixed up a bit, but it is still there. The cottage my grandparents once rented is still there. The house my parents built when I was three years old is still there. The Nature Museum is still there. And yes, our old cottage ... although greatly modernized and expanded ... is still there. Some things are gone ... most notably, my Grampa's dance hall ... but everything was familiar.

And so, I found myself overcome with emotion but not overcome with sadness. Don't get me wrong, that beach will always invoke great emotion in me. But I felt more happiness from the memories that surfaced about my time spent there as a kid, with my brother, than sadness that would warrant me avoiding this place that been so important to our family. I had some unexplained flashes of things that I could not fully remember, and some things came to mind that I had not thought of in years: like the (imagination-inspired) games we used to play in the forest around our cottage, and the beach parties, and the little secret fishing hole where you could always find my brother with his fishing rod and a small container of left-over corn kernals ... that was his secret bait, but I don't think he would mind if I told you.

I wonder if it was his presence I felt out there? Maybe it was him that made me feel okay. Do you think that could happen?

His name was Joel and I still miss him every day. He would have turned thirty-eight years old this past Saturday. Wish he could have come camping with us to celebrate. Wish he could have known his nephew and nieces. I just wish so many things.
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One Woman's Search for Everything
Author: jill
•7:58 PM
For as long as I can remember, my Mom has always told me that she likes to savour a book. And I have always thought that was one of the craziest things I had ever heard. Savour a book? Who savours a book? One should savour food, not a book.

I finally understand what all this savouring in my Mother's (reading) life has been about. Usually, I am one to plow through a book that has captured my attention ... reading while cooking, reading while supervising children outside, reading whenever I can.

I have finally finished savouring Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. I am not the kind of person who gets involved with fads and the mainstream cutting edge populace. I am more of a traditionalist, who does what she wants because she wants to. So, when I tell you that I absolutely loved this book, it is because I absolutely do. Not because lots of other people do. If I could eat this book, I would ... that's how much I love it. And I would savour it.

I feel like I endured some therapy after having read this story, and that Liz and I each made transformations of our own because we are both different people when the story is finished. She made me realize things about myself and taught me the importance of balance in my life. You cannot just focus all your energy into one thing and be fulfilled.

Eat Pray Love has been on the New York Times Best Sellers List for 158 consecutive weeks, so I am willing to bet that you have (at least) heard of this book. It is the true story of "one woman's search for everything." She is looking to find balance in her life and to find balance within herself.

Gilbert is probably the opposite of a momoholic ... she is a momophobe. She doesn't want to have children and this realization is the catalyst for all the changes she makes in her life. She divorces her husband and leaves her rebound man to set out on a journey of self-discovery.

Gilbert first goes to Italy in search of pleasure ... and since she has taken a one-year vow of celibacy, she finds pleasure in food. She truly enjoys the regional food of Rome and the cultural traditions associated with food. For instance, in Italy, after watching a soccer match, the fans go out for ... get ready for it ... cream puffs. That's right, they all crowd into their favourite bakeries and celebrate (or drown their sorrows) with cream puffs. I am trying to imagine Jonesy and his buddies going out for cream puffs after a Michigan Wolverine's football game, and I'll be honest, I just can't see it.

The idea of four months in Italy is a dream for me. I would love to go and experience the life there. Not for just a two week vacation ... but live there in a small apartment, and wander along the cobblestone streets, down to the local market for fresh produce, followed by a stop at the Butchers for local meat and cheese. Roaming the countryside in search of new people and foods. Have you ever taken the time to really enjoy food? Appreciate it for its flavours? The idea of truly enjoying food was introduced to me in Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food. He talks about eating seasonal, locally-produced food and taking the time to sit at the table and truly appreciate its flavour. Gilbert lives in Italy for four months learning to speak Italian and enjoying food. She begins each day by asking herself what she would enjoy doing.

What would you like to do today? Take every obligation and person you know and shove them out of your life - just for a minute - and ask yourself what you would enjoy doing. I think she began each day with a cappuccino and a newspaper, which she read leisurely. Like, with no one asking her for juice or toast or anything. Bliss ...

But I would miss them by lunch time.

Gilbert talks about her failed relationships with men a lot. She put it into terms that I could really relate to ... in a totally different way. She identifies her biggest problem to be that she doesn't understand boundaries, nor does she respect them. When dating a man, she was utterly, head-over-heels in love and she lost herself in her man. She wrote about friends telling her that she actually looked like whomever she was dating. She would become that person.

Sound familiar? The idea of not having boundaries describes my relationship with my children. I became them ... I lost myself in them and their needs. I honestly could not separate myself from them at times.

Does this mean that I get to go to Italy for four months and read and eat the best pizza in the world and try gelatto for the first time? I didn't think so...

Gilbert leaves Italy and moves to India, where she lives in an ashram for four months. An ashram is a secluded residence used for religious retreat. She uses the time to master meditation and to find her spirituality in pursuit of devotion. She studies under her Guru.

I have mentioned in the past that I am not a religious person ... I have too many questions. However, I do not think that meditation is solely for the purpose of finding God ... I think it is about quietening your brain ... letting your brain rest. Then, I believe you can find peace within yourself and perhaps understand your own spirituality.

Spirituality does not equal religion or God. I think there are many people who believe that if you are a spiritual person, you have a deep faith in God. I do not. For me, spirituality is more of an energy ... an energy that eminates through our bodies connecting our physical selves with our souls. According to Dictionary.com a soul is the principle of life, feeling, thought, and action in humans, regarded as a distinct entity separate from the body, and commonly held to be separable in existence from the body.

Okay, this is gettin' heavy.

Suffice it to say that I would be very excited to visit the ashram, and try to centre myself through meditation. I'll let you in on a little secret ... I tried to meditate a few times. I actually bought a book to learn more about it back in the days of infertility. I thought that if I could quiet my body and reduce the stress that I was feeling, then perhaps all systems would work as they should. Meditation can be rejuvenating ... this was the theory I worked from. I can say that meditation is not something that you just decide to do. It's hard to sit quietly ... in fact, these days, I can hardly imagine sitting quietly for more than three minutes.

I think that it was during her time at the ashram that Gilbert made the most strides toward centering herself and finding some peace. You could almost feel the calm descend over her.

For her final four months, Gilbert travelled to Indonesia in search of balance. She wants to learn from a Medicine Man, Ketut Liyer.

You know, I wasn't even sure where Indonesia was on the globe ... I have rectified that problem. Of course I had heard of Bali ... but I didn't know that it was in Indonesia. I guess I should have paid more attention in Geography class. Ugh.

I think that I would travel all the way to Indonesia just to meet the Medicine Man, Ketut Liyer ... and judging by the videos on YouTube, there are women who have actually done so. The Medicine Man agrees to teach "Liss" (as he calls her) about Balinese meditation in exchange for her teaching him to speak better English. And so their friendship begins.

Liss spends her four months in Bali making new friends, helping them with their struggles, learning some of the customs and eventually, finding love once again. And yes, she practices Balinese meditation.

For a woman like me, who feels as though she has lost a little bit of herself ... perhaps a little bit of her spirit ... this book was just what I needed. And, I can imagine myself re-reading parts of it when I am feeling like I have wandered off my path.

There is a movie coming out in the summer, starring Julia Roberts. I'm sure it will be fabulous ... but will it be better than the book? Absolutely no way!!!! I'll see you there ...

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I Hate When This Happens
Author: jill
•12:10 PM
You know, I hate when this happens.

Because I want to seem all scholarly and knowed. Especially on my very own blog. But, again, I find myself a little embarrassed; however, this time I am not embarrassed because I have never heard of the author of my most recent book.

I am embarrassed because I was completely wrong about my most recent book.

I just finished Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson. I was prepared to write about how I just didn't understand what all the excitement was about ... and by excitement, I am referring to the 2005 Pulitzer Prize it was awarded along with the 2004 National Book Critics Circle Award for Fiction, and the 2005 Ambassador Book Award. I just was not getting it ... until the end, when I shed tears and felt embarrassed at my stupidity. And now, I feel a little sad because I will miss Reverend John Ames and his thoughts.

Marilynne Robinson is a teacher at the University of Iowa. She wrote her first novel, Housekeeping, in 1980; Gilead is her second novel, which was published in 2004. I am intrigued to read Housekeeping, and have added it to my list of books to read when my challenge is finished - it looks like something I would really enjoy.

Gilead is a series of letters written by Reverend John Ames, for his son. Ames, who is seventy-six years old, has learned he is dying of heart disease and knows that he does not have much longer to live. And yet, he feels there are some things he wants to impart to his seven-year-old son; lessons on life, so to speak. Now, you may think it odd that a seventy-six-year-old man has a seven-year-old son; however, when my Grampa was born in 1913, his father was seventy-two years old. Could you imagine having an infant in your care at the age of seventy-two? I can barely cart around an almost-four-year-old at the age of almost-fourty-one ...

In the Bible, "Gilead" means hill of testimony or mound of witness, (Genesis 31:21), which describes the very essence of this book. It is a testimony of John Ames and his thoughts and his values. Gilead is also the name of the town in which Ames has resided his entire life and it is very much at the heart of the story.

Although John Ames writes the papers as a way of communicating to his young son, he uses them as makeshift confessional for himself as well. He is able to express the loneliness he experienced after his first wife died ... to reveal, and therefore relieve himself of the anger he feels toward his father ... and to declare his love for his wife and young boy ... to explore his relationship with his namesake, John ("Jack") Ames Boughton, who is his best friend's wayward son.

If you were to write to your children, what would you want them to know about you? And, don't just say that you would want them to know how much you love them and how much they mean to you. Really think about it ... what do you want them to know? Do you have any regrets? Are you really proud of something you accomplished? Did you do something really stupid and you want them to learn from your mistake? Do you have a specific memory that you want them to know about? What were you like as a child? What is the scariest thing you have ever done?

It would be an interesting exercise. As I'm sure you can imagine, even before I read this book, I had thought of doing the same thing. But, maybe this blog could be my notes to my children. Maybe they could learn something about me as a person by reading these entries, instead of just knowing me in my role as a momoholic. I know that it is a difficult step to take because Marnie giggles uncontrollably whenever I mention that I once worked in an office, with my very own desk and computer and fancy telephone, two lines ringing at once. Caiden just stares at me, until finally, he'll say, "You're jokin', right Mom?"

John Ames wants his son to learn lessons like, "... mind what you say. 'Behold how much wood is kindled by how small a fire, and the tongue is a fire' - that's the truth. When my father was old he told me that very thing in a letter he sent me." Ames adds his own thoughts or a memory into the entries, making an example of his own life.

He is funny sometimes, too. He imagines how he will be found when he dies, and he wants to make it dramatic. So, while waltzing around (alone) in his study, he tries to consider which book he should be clutching when he is found dead. Something that will go on to be considered a recommendation for reading since it was found grasped in the hands of the Pastor when he died. John Ames amused me sometimes.

Ames also details his family history and, in doing so, reveals his thoughts on father-son relationships.

This book is written without chapters. You know, I had never read a book without chapters until this challenge, and now I have read three. This story does have many breaks because it is written like entries in a diary, however it is not dated. Some entries are five or six sentences; others are three or four pages long. It is easy to read in bits and pieces, like I am often required to.

I had a very hard time getting "into" this book. In most novels, the reader is introduced to the characters and the setting within the first couple of chapters - you get to know your way around, so to speak. I don't think Ames' son ever gets named, and his wife's name is not revealed until near the end of the book. At the beginning of the story, each entry wraps up the thought ... that is, you do not need to continue to read to find out what happens. I had a very difficult time feeling drawn into the story. I appreciated what Ames had to say, but I was not sure that I cared to continue reading.

You know, when your Grampa tells stories ... stories you have heard before, or stories of "the old days," or useless anecdotes. Well, useless at the time. The beginning of the story was like that for me. Vaguely interesting, but useless at the time; yet really missed once it's gone. Just like my Grampa and his stories.

One of the reasons I may not have cared to continue reading is because it is a very religiously based book. And, I am not a very religious person. In fact, I out-right disagreed with a number of Ames' religiously-based ideas, and sometimes I did not like him. But other times, I really, really loved him ... for the sweet person that he was.

Eventually, I did start to care about reading it; you can tell, because I begin to "shush" my children and beg them for "five more minutes" until I have to get (insert anything a child may want/need here - legitimate or otherwise). I read through the last third of the book quickly, slowing my pace as the end neared. Because I did not want the end so near.

I am so thankful that I continued to read. Because, by the last entry, I came to appreciate what a wonderful person John Ames was, and that there were many things that we could all learn from him.

And, I did really cry at the end of the book. It made me sad to think that he had died, and that his son would grow up without his Dad. A really great Dad.

I feel rushed to read. I wish that I didn't ... but I do. So, when I pick up a book, I calculate when I should be finished reading it. To stay on track. On an intellectual level, I know this is wrong ... I am reading to expand my knowledge and open myself up to new things/ideas/people. But, apparently, I am competitive. I would never have called myself competitive, but I guess I am. Because I do not want to have read fewer than one hundred books by December 31st.

Ugh ... I always do this to myself.

I hate when this happens.
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Lessons Learned Shopping with Addie C. Jones
Author: jill
•3:15 PM

At Christmas time this year, my children were introduced to some friends of their Grama and Grampa Jones. As a special treat, one friend, who became known as The Money Man because my girls can never remember his name, gave each of the kids five dollars to spend however they chose. We tucked the money away for something to do on a boring, snowy day. As it turns out, this past Saturday, although not snowy, was indeed very boring. Marnie woke up ready to spend her five dollars.

After some thought, I suggested we check out Dollarama. Look, I know it is stuff for a dollar, but when you are a little girl, it doesn't really matter where you get your stickers from. It just matters that you get the stickers. There are lots of crafty supplies at Dollarama and I assumed she would pick up five crafty supplies. But what do I know? She selected a little hair stylist kit, complete with a pretend hairdryer and lots of pretty things for Barbie's hair; and she also got a little purse set. But she is like her mother because she went for the high-end stuff ... two bucks for each set. However, her father has had some influence as well because she was quick and decisive in her shopping endeavour. We were in and out of there on Saturday afternoon in five minutes flat.

When we arrived home with Marnie's treasures, we were met with tears of disbelief from a little sister. I quickly explained that I was planning to take her shopping when the big kids went back to school on Monday. So, on Monday morning I was greeted bright and early by a three-year-old, completely dressed in beautiful shopping attire, asking if we could go to the store immediately.

"Can I give the lady my money when we pay? Like a big girl?" Addie asked while we drove over to Dollarama. I assured her she could, enjoying the excitment that a shopping trip could generate in such a little girl. And they all like to hand over the cash, don't they? Marnie wanted to do the same thing ...

I soon learned that when shopping with Addie, you must check each item in the store before a final decision can be made. And I don't mean strolling up and down the aisles, just taking in the sights. I am pretty sure she touched every single thing she could reach in the store.

"And, what's dis?" she would ask, turning the item over in her little fingers.

The thing about little kids is that they don't care about the price tag, and they don't care if it says Armani on the side or "made in China" on the bottom. Whether she had a million dollars or one dollar, she was going to take the time to make the right decision. Which involved knowing all her options before a final decision could be reached.

Sometimes, a girl just knows and other times, she needs try things on. As in the case of the slippers. Addison loves shoes ... alot. She wears them all the time and even sleeps in them. I have written about the problem before. So, I'm sure you can understand that the shopping trip came to a halt in front of the slippers. She must have tried on ten different pairs of one dollar slippers, most of which were too big for her. But you just don't know 'til you try ... even if your Mom tries to tell you.

The first item finally selected, we made our way a little further down the aisle and the slippers were quickly tossed aside for a pair of pink (imitation) crocs. And so our shopping trip at Dollarama went until we had the crocs, a little plastic purse filled with all kinds of cool stuff and a Valentine's Day Heart charm to clip onto the little purse. And as promised, she handed the clerk her money just like a big girl. She got one cent back in change.

On our way home, she chattered happily about her purchases.

"But you know what the best part is?" she asked me.

"No, Addie. What is the best part?" I asked.

"Daddy will be happy at me 'cause the lady gave me some money back, that's what," she explained.

She probably has a point there ... Why? 'Cause Mommy doesn't often do that, that's why.
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