Bookworm

What book is next on your reading list?

I have to admit. This prompt made me laugh a little. I think since Thing One was born, I’ve read a grand total of about ….three books.

I am not proud of that fact… but quite seriously I have no idea where to find the time to read!!

Oh! I read a book two years ago… I’m still not finished.

Until 6 years ago …or so… I was an avid reader. As a child I would take out 10 books at a time from the library. It was not uncommon for me to be reading a different book in every room of the house!

While Dad was more of a storyteller, Mum always read stories to us at bedtime. I can still hear the voices of the characters she voiced as I read those same books to my own children.

Obviously as I grew up, other interests took hold – specifically friends, boys and skiing – but I still managed to read two or three books a week. I couldn’t fall asleep unless I read for “a few minutes”, which quite often turned into “a few hours”.

My love of books has thankfully been passed on to both of our children. But at this point, Thing One is our true bookworm. Though Thing Two is not far behind.

Since Thing One was born, I’ve read him a bedtime story every night. As a tiny bub, he wasn’t so receptive but as he grew up, he would listen avidly and request book after book. Now, each of the kids chooses a book at bedtime and we snuggle up together to read. It’s a precious time in my day.

Thing One taught himself to read. I cannot take any credit for that. He reads anything and everything he can get his hands on. I’ve even had to stop him from reading one of my novels that’s been gathering dust for six years. Somehow a murder-mystery novel just doesn’t seem like appropriate reading for a six year old.

He often reads aloud to Thing Two in the car on the way to school. Frog and Toad are my favourites. Thing One voices them so well, that I even turn off the music so I can listen too.

It never occurred to me that I would come to consider a love of books to be a bad habit.

Thing One, it’s time to go to school. Put your shoes on please.

A few minutes later…

Thing One. We have to go! Put the book down and put your shoes on.

A few minutes later…

For crying out loud! Put the book down and put. on. your. shoes!

A few minutes later…

If you don’t put that book down and put on your shoes, you won’t be allowed to read for a week!

These one sided conversations occur multiple times a day and in various situations. Getting into the car. Getting out of the car. Getting undressed. Getting dressed. If there are letters written on something, the boy is transfixed.

For Christmas this year, Thing One and Thing Two received a generous gift of money to spend on something they’d like.

I’ve held back giving them the money because we already have an entire houseful of toys. It’s at the point where I’m considering looking for my own place, to be honest. The obstacle course that is our first floor of the house, is treacherous on a good day.

Thankfully, their inner bookworms took over and we managed to purchase a selection of books for each of them.

Thing One counted down the days until the Amazon delivery man was to make his appearance.

Sensei! On Sunday my new books I got for Christmas are coming!

Oh? Who are the books from?

Ummm… Amazon!

I thought Santa was someone to look forward to but Ol’ Saint Nick has nothing on the Amazon delivery guy. The poor man could barely keep from falling backwards down the stairs as two excited children barrelled over him to receive their new books.

“Mummy?” A little voice whispered from behind her. Turning, she realised Thing One was standing there, packages of new books cradled in his arms. To her surprise, fat tears were streaming down his cheeks.

Startled, she cried, “What’s wrong!? Why are you crying!?”

“I’m not sad, Mummy. These are happy tears,” he laughed. “This is my best day of my whole life!”

With that, he turned and nestled himself onto the sofa, surrounded by his new treasures.

New worlds to explore

So what’s next on my list of books to read…? Hmmm… Green Eggs and Ham? No. Thing Two has already read that from cover to cover by herself. National Geographic’s Little Kids’ First Big Book of Dinosaurs? No. Thing One has already read that… twice.

Ah… Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Each night this week, the three of us will cuddle together and read a chapter or two at bedtime. Surprisingly, I’ve never actually read it.

I’m quite looking forward to it.

Finding Freedom in Love

The past two years have found us all in a world we no longer recognise. Each of us in our own way is trying to find a path that leads us back to where we feel comfortable.

Today, I sit writing this post from the emergency room of a local hospital. The world around me has become such an alien place to me that I feel so out of sorts and unsure of myself.

I limped to the doors of the hospital, mask slightly askew to be met by an imposing line of security officers. I was sprayed, had my temperature checked and had a seal of approval attached to my sleeve.

If I did not so desperately need help, I would limp back to the car and go home.

People who once bustled from place to place in that Japanese jog-shuffle that indicated that the person was on important business, now just slowly shuffle from place to place. People are defeated.

I do not want to be part of this world. I cannot accept the fear that has shadowed the eyes of people that once smiled in welcome.

Having read that it is polite to bow when meeting the eye of a Japanese person, particularly an elderly person, she came to a stop on the sidewalk. As the elderly lady approached, she made sure to bow deeply. She had only been in Japan a few days, and she wanted to make sure she was as as respectful as possible.

The old woman smiled with delight and returned the bow.

With relief at having not gaijin-stomped all over the traditions of her newly adopted home, she carried on walking.

“Sumimasen!” A babble of Japanese came from behind her. Fearful that perhaps she had created offence, she slowly turned back to the old woman, prepared to apologise for her unintended rudeness.

A bottle of Fanta soda was thrust at her. Though she loathed Fanta, she accepted the gift with gratitude. It was a hot day, and the woman must have been touched by her efforts. Smiling and thanking the woman for her kindness, she turned and carried on.

One of the main things that struck me when first coming to Japan was how people would smile and greet each other in the street. Strangers walking their dogs would smile and wish each other good day.

I adopted that habit very quickly. Growing up in Canada, I remember people doing the same thing, but as I grew older it happened less and less frequently until strangers passed each other on the street stone faced. Coming to Japan, was like being hugged every so often by my childhood memories of kindness.

What was once welcoming kindness and natural curiosity of a foreigner in their midst, has become stares of mistrust and fear. At least, I think so. Not being able to see a person’s face makes it difficult to know if they’re smiling at you in kindness or glaring in hatred. “Smiling with your eyes” is not quite the same as the warm friendly grins and the awkward calls of “Where from?” of yesteryears.

The elderly woman shuffled to her seat at the front of the bus. She arranged her packages, she sighed, sat back and looked around at the people around her.

Meeting her eyes, the lady took in her maskless face with curiosity and a little surprise. Looking right at her, the old woman squinted her eyes and glared.

Masks were only just becoming “etiquette” and feeling uncomfortable she looked back at the lady in fear that she would verbally attack her in some way. O-ba-sans are notorious for being a smidge cranky.

A sudden startled look of awareness seemed to enter the old woman’s eyes. She reached up and pulled her mask down. A warm and friendly smile beamed across her face.

With relief, she smiled back and nodded warmly at the woman.

Everywhere I look there is fear and mistrust. It drains my soul. I feel myself filling up with the darkness that shadowed me as girl and through the dark moments of my life. Dark thoughts that have not seen the light of day in 20 years have returned. Each day presents a struggle. A struggle to survive. A struggle to remain standing in the light. A struggle to hold on to the freedoms we still are fortunate to have. A struggle to breathe.

I have always strived to live life unapologetically. As a Canadian I have been ribbed continuously for apologising too much, by my friends from less apologetic countries. Now I find myself apologising for being who I am every day. I am offensive to nearly everyone I meet. I am the foreigner who surely must have brought this plague to these fair shores. I have been told to leave this country more times than I can count. I find myself bent in a defensive posture, eyes cast at the ground when simply stopping by the shop to pick up a carton of eggs.

As a person who has contemplated death a number of times in my life, I live in fear of feeling that depth of loss, sadness, shame and desperation again. I have fought hard to not be sucked down into that place and to hold on tight to the light that surrounds me.

In the storms that have blown through my life, I have bent. I have cracked, but I have not broken.

Those who follow our story know that my children are my light. Every step forward I take, every sacrifice I make, every choice, every breath is solely for them. For that, I will never apologise or back down. The children of this world are our future. They must be protected, nurtured and encouraged to live boldly and without fear.

My children do not need a mum who fears the wrath of strangers, or hides from herself or her beliefs. They do not need a mum who allows the opinions of others to dictate her actions. They need a mum who knows herself, fears nothing and embraces the world with love and acceptance.

For me, this pandemic is over. I’ve had enough. My children have had enough. Hubs has had enough. (That’s why he’s waiting in the car and I’m wildly wheeling my wheely-chair up and down the corridors of the hospital solo) We choose to no longer participate, beyond what is required to function in this strange world.

I choose freedom. I choose happiness. I choose my life and the path I’ve found myself on.

I started this year with a promise. If it doesn’t inspire happiness within me, I will cease to do it.

But I’m also amending my promise. This world needs to love again. We need to greet each other in the streets and shops with respect, kindness, trust and compassion. I cannot change the world. I can’t even change the thinking of some of my closest friends and family. I was a fool to try.

But what I can do, and what I can teach my children to do, is bring a little bit of light to everyone we meet.

Wheeling her wheelchair expertly back from the X-ray room, she looked into the eyes of the other patients waiting to be seen by a doctor. Everyone looked worn and weary. Shoulders were slumped. Some people were in pain and vocalising their misery to their companions. Others were impatient. Others appeared resigned to whatever bad news was waiting for them on the other side of the sliding doors.

Smiling at the same woman who she had been sitting next to before she’d been taken to X-ray, she jokingly declared “Tadaima! I’m back!”

The woman laughed and nodded her head, “O kaeri! Welcome back!” Turning to her friend, she said “Gaikokujin wa yasashii na? The foreigner is friendly, eh?”

She smiled to herself. Maybe she brought a brief moment of distraction and humour to the waiting room. Maybe that woman will go home and tell her family about the wacky foreigner who wheeled her wheelchair like a pro and warned all nurses to take care because she’s “omoii” (heavy).

As she rolled away, she met the eyes of the woman and quietly said, “Odaijini. Take care.” The woman reached up, pulled down her mask and whispered, “Arigato. Thank you,”

I thank you dear reader, for sticking by me through the ups and downs of our journey. I will continue to write these stories for myself and for my children when they are old enough to understand. If you would like to continue with us on this journey, then please do. Everyone is welcome in our hearts and in our home, but we will no longer participate in the negativity that has permeated our society.

We will not “smile with our eyes” or elbow bump you in greeting. That is inauthentic and not who we strive to be.

We will continue to live free, breathe the fresh clean air and live life without apology, malice or fear.

Be happy.

Live free

Finding Solitude

Where do you go when you need solitude?

As a mum of two young kids, finding a moment of solitude is often as elusive as catching the summer breeze in your hands.

I didn’t appreciate the vast amounts of solitude that I had before I had children. Since the day they placed Thing One in my arms and wished us good luck, there have been very few moments when I have been alone. Even during those rare moments when we’re apart, the kids are never far from my mind.

When Thing One was very little, I used to escape to the toilet for a few minutes. Not to pee, but to sit quietly, check my messages, indulge in a little Facebooking, or just breathe.

That was fine until he got big enough to follow me. Then he would stand outside the door screaming MUUUUUUMMMMMYYYY! at the top of his lungs, as though I’d abandoned him forever. The heart wrenching wails and the frantic pounding on the door did little to give me the illusion of solitude.

Then the toilet completely ceased to be any sort of refuge at all…

Oh… here it comes, Thing Two. Mummy’s peeing! Wait…wait…are you looking Thing Two? Here it comes! ……

YAAAAAAAY!! MUMMY PEED!

I can still picture the excited faces of my two wee heathens squatting down on the floor, waiting in anticipation for me to… erm, relieve myself. The victory dance that ensued will forever be endlessly entertaining in my memory. Though in the moment, I may have been slightly less amused.

Hubs is great. He’s not a weekend dad. He’s an all the time dad and I appreciate him so much for that, but when he takes them out for long stretches of time… that’s when I appreciate him most.

Shall I take the kids to the park?

YES!!! PLEASE!!!!

Would you like to come?

GOD, NO!

While they’re out and about on an adventure with Daddy, that’s my time to have a long, hot shower, catch up on a tv show, make some bread, do some shopping or head out into the garden.

When Hubs craves solitude, he will take off for an overnight hike or a day of surfing. I am not built that way. If I were to rush off, by myself, to the mountains, I’m certain I would be eaten by bears. I’m not even entirely sure if there are bears on the island of Shikoku, but if there’s even one, I would most definitely end up as it’s afternoon snack. And surfing…well, let’s not go there.

So I find solitude in the chaos that is our home.

The kitchen has become my primary refuge lately. I’ve always enjoyed cooking, but since we’ve taken on the challenge of healing Thing One’s Leaky Gut, it has become both a hobby and a necessity.

Turning on some music, organising my ingredients and getting to work calms my mind, relaxes my body and feeds my soul.

The kids may be playing just on the other side of the counter, but once I’m in the the zone, it’s like I’m all alone.

Do not come into the kitchen if Mummy is cooking.

It’s not exactly a hard and fast rule. Obviously, there are disagreements that need resolving, boo-boos that need kissing and snacks to be served, but for the most part I’m left alone.

The garden as well, is a place I can retreat to to clear my mind and ground myself.

The feel of the soft, cool earth between my fingers and the warmth of the sun on my back brings me an enormous sense of peace. I’m often out there alone. I lose myself in my thoughts as I tend our vegetables and flowers.

While the kitchen and the garden have become my sources of solitude, I’ve also discovered another sneaky location.

The upstairs bathroom.

Kids, I’m going to the toilet. Don’t fight.

THING TWO! MUMMY’S GOING TO DO A POO-POO!

No. No actually I’m not. But they’ll never come to find me…and I’ll never tell.

Mysterious Happenings

Write about something mysterious.

I’ve written before about the strange things that happen frequently in our home. Over time, it has just become a part of living here. The sound of balls bouncing across the floor of the empty bedroom upstairs…the flash of white that passes by the door of the living room at night… the tall man and child that stand silently just off to the side, but aren’t there when you turn to look at them. I’ve grown accustomed to it.

We’ve researched if anything has happened here in the past that would have trapped negative energy in the house. There’s nothing.

Hubs asked the landlord if anything untoward could have happened here. She told him that she’s had many tenants over the years, but as far as she knows nothing has happened.

But yet, these mysterious things keep happening.

It all starts with this lemon

Birthdays in our house are the usual brouhaha of cakes, presents and good friends (our Japan family) coming together to eat, drink and be merry.

Thing Two’s first birthday was no exception. We gathered together on her special day to celebrate her first year of life.

Thing Two’s first birthday…do you see it?

We had purchased a set of wooden fruit and vegetables as her birthday present. It was very popular with the under three crowd we’d invited over for a wee birthday party.

The kids played in the “Japanese Room” all day. Being as they were all quite small, the kids remained in that room to play for the party.

The day was a rousing success and eventually everyone buggered off home.

With the kids finally tucked away in bed, they had a chance to put the house to rights after the party.

“Wait…what? Where the…? Oh for crying out loud. Half of the lemon is missing! We’ve only had the bloody toy less than one day!”

Searching high and low, the rogue lemon was nowhere to be found.

“Ah well, it’s somewhere in this room. It’ll turn up,” Hubs assured her.

It never has.

Well that’s no mystery, I’m sure you’re thinking. You’d be right. Toys go missing all the time. I chalked it up to one of life’s irritations and moved on.

“Sweetie…you haven’t happened to see my towel? You know, the yellow one I use at soccer?”

The yellow towel has never been found.

I’ve read that spirits often fixate on specific people, objects or colours. I’ve heard that spirits can be playful. They can take things and hide things.

Apparently our ghost likes yellow. That’s fine… I just wish they’d bring back the lemon.

Unbeknownst to me at the time of The Great Disappearing Lemon Caper, this was to be the first indication that something, other than just us, was present in our home.

Each time there’s a mysterious incident, it dissipates for a period of time before the energy in the house starts to build again.

It’s starts off with an eerie sensation and builds until doors start slamming, ghostly laughter sneaks up behind you and worse.

The echoes of children’s laughter rolled up the stairs. She could hear the splashes coming from the bathroom. The kids were having a wonderful time playing together in the tub.

Leaving them under the watchful eye of Daddy, she continued up the stairs to the children’s bedroom.

Pyjamas…underwear…socks… Reviewing the mental list in her head, she was about halfway through the room when she noticed it…

The air was thick and heavy in the room. Even though the overhead light was shining brightly, the room seemed dark. Menacing.

The squeals, splashes and laughter from downstairs faded away. The silence of the room pushed against her.

Ignoring her instincts to turn and run back downstairs, she pressed on. She opened the top drawer of her daughter’s dresser and reached for the clothing she needed.

Suddenly, she felt a strange pressure pushing against the middle of her back, between her shoulder blades. It pressed against her more and more firmly. It was almost like being hugged from behind …at first. Then it became a shove.

Grabbing some clothes, she slammed the dresser drawer shut and ran from the room.

She clattered down the stairs and stopped in the foyer. Her body felt like it was vibrating. Shivers were running up and down her spine. Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she turned and looked into the darkness at the top of the stairs.

What was that? She felt like an electric current was running through her body.

She jumped as Hubs spoke, “What’s up, sweetie?”

“Umm … nothing. It was nothing.”

“No. Something’s wrong. What happened?”

She took a deep breath and told him what she’d seen, and felt. As she came to the part of the story where she’d been shoved (because that was what it was), she placed her hand on his back to show him how it had felt. As her hand pressed firmly on his back, a jolt left her hand and ran down the length of his body and then dissipated.

Her body was no longer vibrating. Whatever energy that had possessed her had been neutralised.

Since that mysterious event, the house has been quiet.

Until last night…

Last night, the white figure began passing up and down the hallway outside the living room door again….

Here we go again

Favourite Photo

What is your favourite photo you’ve ever taken?

I’ve taken so many photos over the years, that it’s so very difficult to decide upon a favourite.

Scrolling through the 3000+ photos on my phone, each one sparks a memory. Each one, in that moment, is my favourite.

Even my Favourites folder is just a mix of photos that I refer to often and have been marked as “favourites” for simply the ease of locating the photo quickly.

Dunno who this bloke is, but he’s the spitting image of a good friend of mine. The jokes are endless.

I fancied myself a reasonable photographer a few years ago. Some of those photos are favourites too, but I wouldn’t classify them as my absolute favourites…

Monet’s Garden…Japan style

I have favourite photos of the special people in my life of course. It would be impossible to say that any one of those photos is my favourite. Also, some of those photos were not actually taken by me, so they’re disqualified out of hand.

I didn’t take this photo, but I adore everything about it.

There are the favourite moments in my life, of course, that also have favourite pictures. Our wedding day. The first moments with our son. My first moment alone with my daughter…

Our wedding day

Thing One’s first giggle

My gorgeous girl

So how am I supposed to decide? One day, I hope my children will read this blog and know I did my best for them. But I certainly can’t have them think I chose one of them over the other. I have favourite pictures of both of them. Hundreds upon hundreds of favourite photos of them both, in fact. It’s impossible to choose …

And so…I decided to choose my favourite photo not for the subject matter. Not for the memory. Not for the quality of the photo, but for the sheer hilarity the image sparks in myself and those I’ve chosen to share it with over the years.

My wee Christmas garden gnome

Question Everything

What is a life lesson you feel everyone can benefit from learning?

A life lesson I’ve faced in the past few years has been not to take things at face value. Don’t simply trust that what you’re being told is correct. Don’t just put blind faith in someone else.

Question everything.

Mum and Dad always taught us to think for ourselves and to trust our instincts. For the most part, that’s what I do.

I tell you, that perspective has got me into, and out of, a number of sticky situations over the years.

Hey there, girl. I remember you from high school. You’re cute. Wanna go for a ride on my motorcycle? Come on…it’s totally safe. I’ll go slow. If you won’t ride on my motorcycle, I can’t take you out…..

I’m not getting on that bike without a helmet. I guess we won’t be going out then. Nice seeing you again though.

Trusting my gut probably saved me from disaster …or at the very least, another bad relationship.

When it comes to people “in authority”, it becomes more difficult to question information. Doctors, teachers, politicians, bosses… we give them authority over us. It’s taboo to question what they tell us, and quite often it’s easier just to go along.

Your blood sugar is elevated. We want you to test your blood eight times a day to make sure you don’t develop Gestational Diabetes…

Do I actually have Gestational Diabetes?

Well…no. But you should test yourself anyway.

In the end, I followed my instincts. Instead of testing my blood and increasing my anxiety, I modified my diet and exercised every day.

Oooh the doctor was mad! She wasn’t used to patients not following her directives. But in the end, I was right. My blood sugar and blood pressure came down and stayed down for the remainder of my pregnancy. In fact, I weighed less at delivery, than I did at conception.

Thing One entered the world happy and healthy.

A bouncing baby boy

When it comes to myself, I’m able to easily follow my own instincts, but as a new mum I lacked confidence in myself. My job was to keep the wee bugger alive. I certainly didn’t have much of a clue as to how to do that.

Unfortunately, I lost sight of the lessons my parents taught me, and put all my trust and faith in the doctors to tell me what to do.

His temperature is a little high. It’s not a fever, but it’s slightly above normal. His lungs are clear. His throat isn’t red. He’s probably got a bacterial infection…or a virus. Here’s a prescription for antibiotics.

It always seemed to strike me as odd that they’d prescribe an antibiotic without running tests…but they’re the doctors. They certainly must know what they’re doing…right?

Hmmm…yes. That rash certainly looks like an allergic reaction. We’ll run an allergy test.

His test came back negative. No allergies. But I think it IS an allergy. Here’s a prescription for allergy medicine.

So we began our ride on the medical roller coaster. Negative allergy test after negative allergy test. More allergy medicines. One for just in case he eats something he shouldn’t. One for if he does eat something he shouldn’t. Another for if the first two medications weren’t strong enough to stop the reaction.

I was giving Thing One allergy medicine daily. Sometimes three or more times a day, and he was still developing new allergies and the medications were no use at all.

My instincts started to buzz. Something more was going on. I began to worry that we were doing more harm than good.

No no… it just takes time. These allergies seem strange but I’m sure that’s what it is. Keep giving him the medications.

Finally, I’d had enough. Our son was in physical and emotional pain. I wasn’t sleeping for worrying. Our family life was chaos. Back to the doctor we went.

In the end, we were fortunate to find a paediatrician who believed me. He too was at a loss for what might be going on with Thing One, but he agreed it wasn’t as simple as food sensitivities. He agreed to take it to his colleagues and present the case in hopes of finding some direction.

They came up with nothing.

In the meantime I spent night after night researching and sliding down rabbit holes into possible diagnoses. Medical papers. Research articles. Discussion groups.

I’m not a doctor. Most of what I was reading didn’t make a lick of sense to me. But a picture was starting to form. What we were witnessing started to fit.

I presented my findings and my theory to our doctor. To my immense relief, he concurred with my theory, and agreed to treat Thing One accordingly.

Within two weeks, there was such an obvious improvement in Thing One, both physically and mentally that we all agreed that we’d made the right call.

Two weeks into treatment and the difference in him was staggering

Leaky Gut Syndrome.

No one here had ever heard of it. Even at home, it’s rare to find a general practitioner who believes in it. You see, it’s not generally treated with pharmaceutical treatments. It’s treated with natural supplements and a change in diet and lifestyle. It’s not a moneymaker.

The fact that it’s believed to be the root cause for a number of diagnoses ranging from Chrones Disease to Attention Deficit Disorder and possibly Autism, makes pharmaceutical companies especially want to disavow it as a diagnoses. Can you imagine how many millions of dollars they’d lose, if these conditions could be treated simply through diet, exercise and lifestyle changes?

One of the main causes is overprescribing antibiotics.

Thing One’s condition was partly my own fault. I put all my faith in the doctors. I ignored my own instincts, through sheer lack of self confidence and fear. I never questioned their diagnoses. I gave him the medicine because that’s what they told me to do.

Our son may have to live with this for the rest of his life, because I didn’t think to question anything.

And that is the life lesson I’ve learned: Trust your instincts. If it doesn’t make sense then ask more questions until it does. And if it still doesn’t make sense to you, then don’t do it. Find another way.

The doctors, teachers, politicians, bosses and other people in authority are just as fallible as any one of us. They possess knowledge, but they also make mistakes just like any one of us.

I no longer blindly follow along with their advice. I question everything. I come to doctors appointments, armed with information I’ve discovered and I ask questions until I’m satisfied my kids are getting the appropriate treatment.

I’m sure I’m the doctors’ worst nightmare.

Thing Two’s chest sounds clear. Her throat is not red. You say there’s been no fever. She has a history of seasonal asthma. It’s probably that. I’ll prescribe a bronchial dilator for her asthma. Oh … and an antibiotic.

Does she need an antibiotic?

She may have an infection.

Then prove it.

Challenge Accepted…

Write about a challenge you faced, and overcame.

The bedroom door closed gently. “Merry Christmas, sweeties,” she whispered. Already their breath had softened into the gentle snores and snuffles of sleep. It had been a day filled with magic, laughter and love.

Being a foreign woman living in Japan, raising two children without extended family support nearby can be a challenge. Having one of those children living with a health condition that impacts him both physically and mentally is absolutely a challenge.

Choosing a challenge to write about is literally as easy as shooting fish in a barrel. (Which quite frankly doesn’t really strike me as being that easy…but hey, a metaphor is a metaphor)

Every day presents challenges that need to be faced, and overcome. So as I sat and pondered this writing prompt, I decided to choose one that is sort of in line with the basic premise of this blog – raising two foreign children in Japan.

Throughout generations, Christmas celebrations in our family have been epic family affairs.

Sadly, the past few years have played a negative role in how we celebrate. Sacrifices have had to be made. Familiar faces are missing from around the dinner table. Gatherings have been minimised. Some traditions have fallen to the wayside.

This year, I set myself a challenge. I was going to bring Christmas and all of its traditions to our home. Well, that’s easy, you may be thinking. I tell you now, it absolutely is not.

We live in a country where Christmas just really isn’t a thing. Oh yes, it’s celebrated, but it’s considered more of a “couples’ holiday”. Santa is not waiting at the mall for kids to line up and whisper their Christmas wishes in his ear. Only rarely will you find a house decorated with twinkling lights. Christmas dinner consists of a bucket of fried chicken and a cream cake. December 25th is a regular work day.

I’m not trying to denigrate the holiday traditions of the Japanese people. The fried chicken and the Christmas cake are their traditions. The point is, they are not our traditions.

Christmas isn’t traditionally a Japanese thing…they just like to think it is.

So the very second the Halloween ghosts and goblins had buggered off back to the spirit world, I began to plot and plan…

First things first, we needed Christmas lights. I’d learned the hard way last year that waiting until December to get the outdoor decorations required to satisfy one’s inner Clark Griswold is setting oneself up to fail miserably. I dragged Thing One and Thing Two from home centre to home centre in search of Christmas lights.

Next on the list was deciding the menu. As roast beef and turkey are not readily available at the supermarket, online shopping to find the best deals and quality ingredients becomes necessary. Throw in the issue of Thing One’s dietary needs and it becomes a feat of epic proportions. Then add in a vegetarian husband…you get my point.

Along with all the cookies, sweets, pastries and tarts that are a dietary staple at Christmas time, I decided to try my hand at a roast beef dinner.

I should mention, that I’ve never in my life attempted to cook a roast beef dinner. So what the hell, let’s throw some Yorkshire pudding in there as well. Go big, or go home, right? The irony is not lost on me….

With the menu in place, the decorations ready to go and a shopping list the length of my leg, I set out to bring Christmas to our family.

I dusted off the Christmas CDs for the drives back and forth to school. I downloaded our favourite Christmas movies – Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer, Frosty the Snowman, How the Grinch Stole Christmas and Mickey’s Christmas Carol. We wrote letters to Santa.

We’ve been good this year

With the children nestled warmly under a blanket, watching a Christmas movie, she took advantage of the approximately 25 minutes she had to herself to quietly slip out the front door, armed with rolls of Christmas lights and extension cords.

Remembering the painful wounds from the thorns of the lemon tree from last year, she gingerly wrapped the Christmas lights around the branches. Moving on to the bushes under the front window, she laced the new string of Christmas lights through the leaves and branches. Finally, she hung the Christmas wreath on the front door.

“That will do,” she thought.

The Christmas tree up, and decorated, the stockings lovingly pinned to the wall…for we have no fireplace and therefore no mantle… the Christmas spirit was beginning to glow in our hearts.

Each night after the kids were in bed, she dragged out the wrapping paper, scissors and tape. She carefully folded each corner and tucked in each stray edge…at first. By the end of the week, she slapped random bits of paper over the gaps and called it a day.

All of this careful planning and preparation was leading up to the main event. Christmas Day.

In order to keep it all straight and my anxiety levels low, I wrote out my Christmas baking schedule. Each night, once the kids were in bed, I planned to bake something delightful. I was in the final stretch.

There were some epic failures. I like to refer to these as self-destructed butter tarts.

Mostly there were successes.

Christmas Eve had arrived. Everything was ready to go. We spent a lovely evening with friends. The final challenge was only mere hours away.

… I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight, “Happy Christmas to all! And to all a good night!”

The cookies, and egg nog for Santa and a carrot for Rudolph were carefully laid out on a plate downstairs. The annual reading of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas had been read and Thing One and Thing Two were tucked away in bed. The excitement for Santa’s imminent arrival made their cheeks glow and their eyes sparkle.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds…

Stockings stuffed… check. Presents under the tree…check. Santa’s cookies eaten…. Oops. She frantically nibbled the carrot, stuffed the cookies in her mouth and washed it all down with a slug of eggnog.

Santa came!

It felt like she had just settled down for a long winter’s nap, when the pitter-patter of wee hoofies came trotting up the hallway. The bedroom door crashed back against the wall. There, to her complete surprise, stood her son, Santa hat askew and eyes glowing brightly.

Mummy! Let’s go downstairs and see if Santa came!

Mrrrmmnnnfffgghhh …it’s only 6:30!

It was a Christmas miracle. The boy who needed to be blow torched out of bed on a daily basis was out of bed, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

It actually was quite fortunate that Thing One woke me up when he did. The bringing of Christmas was contingent upon the roast beef being in the slow cooker at the crack of a sparrows fart.

I was in the home stretch. The roast beef was cooking away in the kitchen, and we opened presents and had our breakfast.

10:30. Now it was time to focus. Their guests were arriving at 3. Dinner was hopefully going to be ready to serve by 5:30. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms and legs in preparation for the cooking marathon.

Thank god for new Christmas toys. If I’d had to entertain the troops while simultaneously pulling off a full roast beef dinner (plus a vegetarian option) for 8 people….ugh. As it was, I was in the kitchen cooking solidly from 10:30 to 5:30, with only a 15 minute break to shower and get myself together before our guests arrived.

Nailed it!

While graciously accepting the praise from everyone on the success of my dinner, inwardly I was doing backflips around the room. I’d done it. I’d set myself a Christmas challenge to bring a Christmas Day worthy of my mum and grandmother’s skills.

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and paused in the darkness of the foyer. She glanced out the window at the Christmas lights twinkling on the bushes in front of the house.

With a whispered cheer, she threw her hands up in the air and performed the victory dance to end all victory dances. Then she composed herself, and headed back into the living room to relax and enjoy the last moments of Christmas.

The Perfect Day

What does your ideal day look like?

The warmth of the morning sun brushed across her sleeping face. Snuggling down into the covers, she stretched her legs and wiggled her toes.

Ooh …five more minutes.

The house was quiet. The kids were up. She could hear them giggling downstairs. The smell of bacon and coffee wafted up the stairs. Stretching her arms above her head, she lazily reached for her phone.

8:00

“Not just yet,” she thought, and snuggled down into her pillow once again.

She heard the bedroom door open quietly.

Good morning, sweetie. I brought you a cup of tea.

Those words convinced her to crack open one eye and gaze into the loving eyes of Hubs. There he was, holding a steaming cup of tea in his hands, his gentle smile caressing her face like the warmth of the morning sun that had awakened her.

She shifted over so he could sit down. Once she was sitting up and settled back against the pillows, he passed her the tea cup.

The hot tea caressed her throat as she drank, warming her from the inside out.

Thanks, sweets.

He kissed her forehead and said, “Take your time. The kids have eaten breakfast and they’re dressed.

Mummy! Mummy!

Two kids with glowing faces, filled with excitement and laughter, bounded into the room. With the energy of two exuberant puppies, they bounced onto the bed. Each of them babbling excitedly, she smiled and laughed as they competed for her attention. She quickly passed her teacup to Hubs to avoid spilling the tea and burning herself.

Come on, let’s let Mummy wake up a little more. Who wants to go to the park?

Relishing the peace and quiet of the empty house, she enjoyed a long leisurely breakfast, a few more cups of tea and a long hot shower.

She was just putting the bread into the oven to bake, when the front door crashed open and her two rosy cheeked children tumbled into the house.

They were full of stories of playground adventures – other children they’d met, how high they’d climbed and how long it took to find Daddy when playing hide and seek.

After lunch, she quietly slipped outside into the garden. As her fingers dug into the soft brown earth, gently pulling weeds and removing rocks, she could feel her shoulders relaxing.

The blue sky above was cloudless, birds were chirping in the trees. A dog barking, and the sound of kids playing a game of basketball echoed in the distance.

Just as she was finishing tidying up the garden tools and bagging the weeds, a car pulled into the driveway. She turned and smiled.

Hi Mum! Hi Dad!

Her parents had stopped by for a visit. They all sat together in the garden, laughing and talking as though they hadn’t just seen each other last Sunday.

Suggesting that her parents stay for a barbecue, she rang her brother and sister and asked them to come over too.

Looking around at the smiling faces of her family, she felt a quiet glow of joy in her heart. Her daughter was perched on Grandpa’s lap, trading silly jokes and stories. Her son was running his cars around and around people’s feet and under chairs, making shuuushhing sounds. Hubs and her brother in law were deep in conversation. Her brother and sister were doubled up with laughter, quoting TV program jokes, trading hilarious insults and finishing each other’s sentences.

She glanced across at her mum. Their eyes met and they smiled. Mother to daughter, woman to woman, mum to mum. This moment, was perfect.

After everyone had gone, and the kids were tucked into bed, she sat down next to hubs on the couch.

Resting her head on his shoulder, she glanced up at him and said:

This was the perfect day, wasn’t it?

To Boldly Go….

What does it mean to live boldly?

Live large. Live unapologetically. Take risks and celebrate your successes. Learn from your mistakes and do better. Be brave. Speak your truth. Be true to yourself, and stand up for yourself. Live honestly and never stop dreaming. Don’t allow others’ beliefs and opinions about who they think you are, stop you from being who you really are. Be unique. Embrace your individuality.

All of these things and more, speak to me as important things to consider when attempting to live “boldly”.

I do my best to do all of these things, and for the most part, I think I succeed. But it’s something I have to work at, and remind myself to do regularly.

Thing Two, on the other hand, lives boldly each and every moment of her life. It’s not something she has to think about or remind herself to do. It’s who she is.

Thing Two has always done things her own way. For example, she never crawled. She scootched. No matter how many times we encouraged her to crawl, she didn’t want a bar of it.

Fastest scootcher in the West…er, East?

When she began to walk, there was no stopping her. She never cared what obstacles were in her path, she’d just stomp right over them to get to where she wanted to go.

Even now, at four years old, she is outspoken, expressive and confident.

While both kids are not afraid to speak their minds, Thing One tends to be more methodical, careful and conscientious in meeting life’s challenges. Thing Two goes for it wholeheartedly, damn the consequences.

We took a family trip to the Japanese Alps during the Christmas 2020 holidays. Being as the kids were both a bit small to ski, we opted to play with our sleds at the base of the ski hill.

The first few runs down the mountain, both kids wanted either myself or Hubs to ride with them.

As I lay gasping on the hill, winded from my 15th climb up the slope pulling the 8 million pound sled behind me, Thing One took pity on me.

Mummy? If you need a rest, I can go by myself.

…wheeeeeeeeeeze…

I sat in the snow looking on with some trepidation and with pride as I watched my boy use his feet to control the speed and direction of his sled. His face was a picture of concentration and determination, as he cutback across the hill like a pro.

Not to be outdone by her big brother, Thing Two voiced her desire to go down the hill solo.

No Mummy! You stay here. I can do it by myself.

Still suffering from some lack of oxygen induced dementia, I agreed to let her go down the mountain by herself. I could run behind her sled and slow her down if she got going too fast …..

Reminding her to use her feet to slow herself down, I tucked her into her sled and gave her a nudge.

Trotting behind her, I suddenly realised that her legs were too short to touch the snow. My heart in my throat, I watched as my baby girl hurtled down the hill like a bullet, narrowly missing skiers and snowboarders.

Still mildly oxygen deprived, and deeply panicked, I channeled my inner Usain Bolt and began to run.

THIIIIIIIIIINNNNNGGGGG TWOOOOOOOOO!!! UUUUUUSE YOOOOUURRR FEEEEEEET!

As I too hurtled down the hill as fast as my feet would carry me, I could hear people commenting as I passed:

Woah….that kid’s really moving…

With abject horror, I watched as Thing Two slammed full throttle into a snow bank at the base of the hill. She flew backwards off of her sled, landing flat on her back in the snow. The sled flew up into the air, narrowly missing her as it landed and then slid to a rest against the wall of snow.

I ran. Imagining broken bones, paralysis and blood, I hoped for only tears and thanked the fates for putting that snow bank there because on the other side of it was the road.

Thing Two appeared to lay motionless in the snow. As I neared her, I could hear her sobbing.

I ran to her side and stopped short. She wasn’t crying. She was laughing!

I want to do it again Mummy!

And she did. About 15 more times.

She’s tough. She’s determined. She knows what she wants and how to get it.

Every day, I look on with pride as she lives boldly and strides with confidence into her future.

There’s no stopping her

Today Is the Day

What are 5 things you’re grateful for today?

I quickly read this prompt earlier today, between collecting all the library books from the various nooks and crannies scattered around our house and hurling two children into the car to return said books to the library….

As I navigated traffic, construction, and old ladies on scooters, I wracked my brain. What am I grateful for?

My kids, hubs, good health, employment …. All the obvious usuals marched through my mind.

I’m not here to write a New Years toast, so how on Earth could I make that interesting, funny, not soul destroyingly boring?

I can’t.

So sitting down with a cuppa tonight, I looked again at the prompt and realised that it meant today.

That’s easy.

1. My kids

My heart

2. Hubs

My love

3. Good health

Not bad for an old broad

4. A conversation with Mum AND Dad.

My home

5. Blue skies

My soul